It Takes a Colonel
by Sandilynn Petersen
Summary: Inspired by Avirra's "A Year of Murdock," I hope to produce one flash fiction of under 500 words each week for 52 weeks featuring our favorite A-team Colonel. (Okay, so under 1000 words!) The other guys may not be in all of these. The Colonel may be soloing on some of these adventures. But I hope they are enjoyable to read. Please read and review.
1. Chapter 1 Leaks

1. Leaks

A/N: I'm changing things up a bit. I hope you like this.

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

The Army's version of SERE (Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape) hadn't done it. Oh, it helped him survive the jungles of Korea and Nam but it didn't help here.

He even added Water Survival to his military training. But that hadn't done it either.

None of that prepared him for a small leak in a suit that made him resemble a big angry lizard.

_And I'm supposed to stay down for how long? Five minutes? _

During the first thirty seconds being submerged to a depth over his head, he had no indication there was a problem.

_Piece of cake. _

By the end of the first minute the water licked his ankles.

_What the . . . ?_

By the end of the second minute it had risen to his knees.

Three minutes passed and it was up to his hips.

_Oh boy! Little problem here, guys. _

At the four minute mark, he felt the hairs on his chest and underarms waving like seaweed in the surf. Ditto those on his legs.

_I am not going to do a retake. I'll quit first. _

So he did like all good monster movie actors do and tried to make sure the first take was the only one.

By the time the five minute mark was up, he had to keep his mouth shut or drink water.

Then he was sloshing through the still waters of the fake lagoon toward shore his arms up in a threatening pose.

As he went, he thought _this must be what it feels like to be a steak in a marinade. _

All around him, crew members applauded. The water drained out and back into the lagoon and he discovered the scale-sized hole in the right ankle of the suit.

"Cut! Cut!" Stanley, the quirky director who had aspirations of one day making a movie about alien killer yams, strode toward him, shaking his head.

"John, John, John."

Whenever he said the name in triplicate, Hannibal knew he was in trouble.

"How many times do I have to tell you to give a reptilian roar when your head comes up out of the water?"

_Uh oh. _

When he was finished with this next take, he was going to seriously hurt the guy who took one of the scales from the Aquamaniac outfit as a souvenir.


	2. Chapter 2 Missing Is Not an Option

2. Missing Is Not an Option

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

He was lying on his belly behind a pile of rocks on a hill north of Seoul. It was dusk. The year was 1950.

Crouching beside him, Sergeant Kremer adjusted his binoculars. "Come on. Show your face," he muttered under his breath. "Unless he's gone underground again, back in one of those tunnels."

Hannibal shrugged his right shoulder to relieve the tension in it, keeping the Springfield aimed in the approximate last known location of the man Kremer was trying to target. He didn't respond.

A sniper had been taking pot shots at their troops as they attempted to reach the next hill. Corporal Solomon was the first to fall, blood trickling down his nose from a neat round hole between his eyes. He wasn't the only one. For the last twenty minutes or so they had come no closer to knowing where the enemy soldier hid.

The sniper waited and so did they.

Kremer ordered Private Morin and two others to scatter, edge their way around trees toward the unseen enemy. Even now, Hannibal saw them crouching and running, pausing, crouching and running again in a hunched posture, their weapons at the ready. He kept his breaths even and slow, his rifle scope sighted on the far rocks.

A flash of gunfire and Morin lay still, face down and yards away from a yellow-blossomed kerria thicket on the lower slope of the hill.

"There, Smith!" Kremer's angry explosive hiss caught Hannibal off guard. His shot missed the sniper's head and splintered the trunk of a tree behind him. When Flores and Wagner reached the location, they found the tunnel but no armed man. Like a ghost, the Chinese enemy sniper had simply disappeared.

But now was not the time for flashbacks like that.

Hannibal shook his head to clear it of phantom snipers and long dead comrades. They were approaching the clearing.

"Go, Face!" he growled from around his cigar.

One of his men, a hangman's noose around his neck, his hands tied behind his back, balanced precariously on the hood of a truck. His other team mate struggled against ropes that bound him to a tree. The order was given and the truck's driver slowly backed it out from under Hannibal's pilot.

His feet scrabbled one last frantic moment for a toehold. The black dress shoes had no tread, not like the high top Converse tennis shoes the man usually wore. It wouldn't have helped anyway. His feet slid smoothly off the metal.

As the catering van exploded onto the scene, the Colonel took aim from his open side window. He would not miss his target this time. His friend's life depended upon it.

Murdock plummeted to the earth, dangling from the tightening noose, his eyes widening with the certainty of death.

And Hannibal fired.

oooooooooo

AN: A scene from "The Duke of Whispering Pines," Season Four, reflections of Hannibal's Korean War service and photos of American soldiers serving as snipers during that war brought this story to mind.


	3. Chapter 3 A Valentine Tiger

3. A Valentine Tiger

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

When Maggie woke that morning, she had no idea if he was even in the country. The last she knew, the team had flown to Paraguay to help plantation owners convince their workers there was no curse on the land and the ghosts they thought they saw didn't exist.

Around five o'clock that evening she heard pounding on her front door followed by a series of blasts on the doorbell.

She expected an emergency. Stepping out onto the veranda, she looked right and left. Seeing no one, she shrugged and turned to go back inside.

Something bright-colored in front of the door caught her attention and she bent to pick it up.

The red envelope had no return address, no postage stamp, like it had been hand-delivered.

She wasn't expecting a Valentine and doubted one of her patients would drop off a payment disguised as one. It had been years since she was in a serious romantic relationship with someone. At least not until lately.

Her heart thumped a bit faster as she gazed at it and frowned.

_John? _

But she didn't peg him to be a romantic.

"Aren't you going to open it?"

Firm hands on her shoulders spun her around. Her eyes wide and astonished, she stared up into the face of the man she loved.

His blue eyes twinkled with amusement. She could see he was dressed for an evening out. His gray pinstripe three piece suit fit him as well as one of Face's more expensive tailored suits fit the con man.

In despair, she glanced down at her own clothes. She gaped speechless at him before Hannibal gently suggested she might find something in her closet for their date.

He followed her inside and, leaning against the door frame, watched with a confident smile as she tore open the envelope. A bouquet of red roses adorned the front of a long narrow card. As she opened it, a newspaper advertisement for Serensetti's fell out. She barely caught it before it fell to the floor.

Arching an eyebrow at the Colonel, she grinned. "Isn't this Face's favorite restaurant where he takes his dates to impress them?"

"Well," Hannibal grinned back at her, "I figure if it works for him . . . " He shrugged. "Besides, they have music and dancing, and our resident ladies' man guarantees the food."

If she didn't put a hand on his chest to hold him back, he would have followed her upstairs to help her choose something to change into. "Just wait right there, Tiger."

"Meraow," he smiled. As she walked up two steps and turned to cast another disbelieving look at him, he softly murmured, "Don't be long."

She felt her heart flutter wildly and she whispered, "Trust me. I won't."

oooooo

AN: Maggie Sullivan was introduced in the Season One episode "Black Day at Bad Rock" and if Hannibal was to ever have a love interest, she would have been a good match.


	4. Chapter 4 Been There, Done That

4. Been There, Done That

AN: I'm sorry this one is delayed. I had a lot of reading to do about the Battle of Chipyong-ni, the battle that turned the tide of the Korean War. This one is a bit longer because of the history I found on the battle. I wanted to commemmorate the 62nd anniversary of that battle in some way. Hope you like this.

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

oooooo

From where he crouched with Murdock, B. A. and Face in the snow-covered grass below the hill, it was like he had been here before.

_Tunnels in a hillside, hilly terrain, snow on the ground. Impossible odds. What do they call it? Déjà vu? _

"How many do you think there are, Colonel?" His Colt .357 Magnum drawn, the Lieutenant gazed up the hill and toward the abandoned mine. The question broke Hannibal's train of thought.

He squinted, the M-60 trained in the same direction Face was looking. "How many did you see at that bar in Bridgeport, Captain?"

"Six. 'N' I'm pretty sure three of 'em didn' join the rest of 'em here after B. A. got through with 'em."

B. A. shrugged at Hannibal's amused glance his way. "All Murdock did was ask directions ta the Pittsburg-Liberty mine. It was an unfair fight. Six 'gainst the fool. I evened up the odds."

"'N' don' think I ain' endebted t' you f'rever, Big Guy." Murdock touched his blackened eye and winced. "But couldya try 'n' wade into it a li'l sooner nex' time?"

B. A. grunted his reply and turned his attention back to the road behind them.

Hannibal smiled.

_Good thing B. A. was there. These slimeballs mean business. _

"And I saw five or six more up in the rocks and mining structures on that hill. If the others joined them from the rear, I estimate there to be about twelve, including Jelinski and his personal bodyguard." The Colonel pulled out a cigar and prepared to light it.

_About three to one. And when Decker and his men show up, it'll be about four to one. We'll be hemmed in from at least two directions. _

"Not very good odds, Colonel. Explain to me again why we thought it was a good idea to track Jelinski to this godforsaken wilderness area." Face brushed snow from his jacket and frowned through the browned weeds toward the enemy placement.

The Colonel spoke in his patient we've-been-through-this-before voice. "Because this is where he stashed the stolen Army weapons and we want to lure Decker here to find them and Jelinski and his men. If Decker finds the jeep I stole and the note on the steering wheel telling him where we are and why we're here, he's sure to take the bait."

B. A. groaned. "Puts us between a rock an' a hard place."

"More like it makes us kind o' like grapes in a wine press."

"Hush up, fool," the Sergeant growled.

And suddenly Hannibal remembered why this particular scenario seemed somewhat familiar to him.

_That time we were surrounded on all sides by the enemy, too._

He was back in Korea in the crossroads village of Chipyong-ni. The 23rd Regimental Combat Team and a French Batallion were already set up on the lower hills surrounding the town. The orders were to keep the Chinese from taking Chipyong-ni. The First Ranger Company was on call to be used as reserves if needed.

He and his fellow Rangers wondered if they would be needed at all. And then all hell broke loose on the night of 13 February 1951. The Chinese army preferred waging their battles at night.

_Probably thought we'd be afraid of the dark. Or maybe they thought they could sneak up on us easier. _

They punctuated their attack with yelling, bugle calls and whistles. They illuminated their American enemies with red and green rocket flares.

On the evening of the 15th, Hannibal and 35 other men in his Ranger platoon along with Company F attempted to retake the hill previously held by Company G. As the Rangers surged up the hill, they yelled just as loudly as the Chinese had. Some of them made it to the top. Hannibal was one of them.

_The snow was knee-deep in some places. _

A third of his platoon team mates became casualties. Some of the fire was from the Chinese at the top of the hill. Some was from the direction of the hill held supposedly by the French Battalion. Twenty to thirty seconds of it was from a U. S. Army tank machine gun. A combination of enemy and friendly fire.

_Snow and hills. And the feeling of being hemmed in by the enemy. That's why this seems so familiar._

They called it a decisive battle, the turning point of the Korean War. He thought of it as three days of pure hell on earth.

They received a Distinguished Unit Citation for that effort, a counterattack that killed at least twelve of his comrades including the platoon leader.

And they could not hold the hill.

_Funny what sort of thing qualifies for distinguished duty. _

"So what's your plan, Hannibal? Besides either getting killed by Jelinski and his gorillas or being captured by Decker and his MPs." Face turned his skeptical blue eyes on the Colonel.

"I'm working on it."

_But the outcome will not be either of those two possibilities. Not if I can help it. _


	5. Chapter 5 Surf's Up

5. Surf's Up

AN: Taken from the first part of "Bullets and Bikinis," Season Three, Episode 1. Hannibal's reflections. I did add one little detail that wasn't mentioned in the episode but it fits.

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

From the moment we set foot in Miami, I knew it would be difficult to keep Face's mind on business.

Well, at least the business we came to do anyway.

Maybe I knew it before we even set foot on the plane. In fact, the minute Murdock and he began singing "Surf City" in the kitchen of the Seaside Shanty back in L. A., I should have figured it. Two girls for every guy, huh? I knew which one would try to cash in on that.

We had to somehow counteract the bad publicity that was driving customers and hired help away from the Beach Cove Hotel. After all, Tina and Sandy, our lovely clients, had signed the business over to us to operate. From the very beginning I said, "I _like_ owning a hotel."

Even after the mission was over, I could look back and say it was . . . what's the word? Exciting? Exhilarating?

Two months of delinquent mortgage payments meant we had a lot of work to do to turn things around for the better. Face, our consummate PR man, was just the one to figure out the methodology. I left that part to him.

One moment he was enlisting the help of two lovely women, Sheila and Tammy, to hand out advertising fliers. In exchange for her services, he promised Tammy acting lessons. I had a feeling I knew what those would involve. All I had to do was say "Acting lessons?" with a telling smirk and slightly raised eyebrows to hear his protests of innocence. Yeah, right.

The next moment he was training a cute buxom blonde how to put together a cost efficient hot dog with just a dab of mustard and exactly two pickles.

He even planned a wet T-shirt contest. Knowing Murdock and his collection of quirky T-shirts, I did have to step in to remind our pilot that what Face had in mind was _female_ bodies filling those soaked shirts.

The location of the hotel right on the beach gave Face more than enough female applicants to choose from to serve drinks, offer towels to customers and any of the several things necessary to make the business come alive. He had a special uniform in mind that the female hired help had to wear. Bikinis and short shorts, of course. I can't say it was a bad choice.

The Lieutenant was in top form. And I was on the jazz.

We needed Joey Epic to sit up and take notice.

Sit up and take notice, he did. That was where my part of the mission came in.

When Joey's gal Denise asked me to help her with her hotel room key, I knew she wasn't really taking me to her room. I planned on it, in fact. I may still be charming enough to turn a lady's head but I could see through her like a department store window.

I knew the guys would be watching through the binoculars from the lifeguard's platform. I wondered if Face would be jealous when he found out who was sent to escort me and what she looked like. Probably.

Even without the .357 Magnum she held on me, I would have gone with her. She said I made it too easy for them to grab me. _She_ made it too easy to gain access to Joey Epic, despite his maximum security penthouse.

I lit one of the cigars from the box on his desk. It was not one of the finest I have ever smoked. The kid may have good taste in gorgeous women but he has a lousy taste in cigars.

Immediately after that, I burned the contract Joey was trying to get me to sign. I couldn't believe he was dumb enough to be surprised I did.

I would have preferred a few caresses from Denise to the three solid punches to the gut Joey's henchmen delivered. But we can't all get the girl.

At least I fulfilled my goal.

I pushed his buttons and prompted him to respond.


	6. Chapter 6 Not Just Any Smoke

6. Not Just Any Smoke

AN: Cohiba Esplendido cigars are the second finest cigar made in Cuba. For years they were made only for the pleasure of Cuban high officials and diplomats but in 1982 were released to the general public.

* * *

Hannibal leaned against the comfortable overstuffed cushions of the couch and flicked open the humidor on the side table. Extracting a cigar and closing the lid, he bit the end off and lit it.

He drew his first puff and raised his eyebrows at the Lieutenant who waited expectantly for his opinion.

"Why, Lieutenant! I do believe you've outdone yourself this time. A Cohiba Esplendido? Are we celebrating something or planning for our next mission?" The blue eyes acquired a twinkle of amusement and a hint of danger.

Face burst out in a huge dazzling smile that showed his perfectly capped teeth. "I knew you'd enjoy that, Colonel. These premium cigars are compliments of Senor Oliva, the head of the child slave labor ring we're going to break up. The humidor comes straight from his desk."

"An involuntary gift, I presume? At thirty dollars apiece, the Senor pays me a high compliment indeed." Hannibal matched Face's grin while B. A. wrinkled his nose.

"Cigars are cigars. They all smell 'bout the same to me," he grumbled while waving a hand to dispel the smoke drifting in his general direction.

"Ah, but there's where you're wrong, Sergeant. And, Face, you were right to liberate these from Oliva. Thank you. I'm already envisioning what our next course of action should be."

"Hope that smoke that smells like you're burnin' a cedar swamp means we don't need the fool's services an' the plan's gonna go right this time, Hannibal." The black man crossed his arms and waited for the Colonel to divulge his thoughts.

"B. A., B. A. When has a good cigar ever given me a bad idea? And Murdock has every right to be involved in the mission. He does more than fly us to and from places, you know. Let me savor this and then I'll tell you what we're going to do."

Hannibal closed his eyes to block out the Sergeant's frown.

Instead of thinking about the current mission, the Colonel's thoughts strayed to the first cigar he had ever smoked. And the second, because without the first to compare to the second, John "Hannibal" Smith would never have become a cigar afficionado.

His father had been entertaining a bank manager, trying to get funding for a new office building in the heart of Detroit. The rich dark chocolate aroma of the cigars they smoked wafted out the door of the elder Smith's home office and into the path of fourteen-year-old John. An hour after his father went to bed for the evening, having concluded his deal, the teen sneaked down and shut the door.

The humidor on the desk held his father's supply of good cigars. He took one out and held it to his nose, breathing in the fragrance he had smelled earlier. His gaze fell on the engraved brass case of his father's Zippo lighter.

Did he dare?

Listening for any movement in the house, he bit off the end of the Saint Luis Rey Cuban cigar. He stuck it in his mouth, lit it and drew in a long breath. Smoke exploded from his mouth as the first draw choked him and made him cough violently. The second draw was much nicer. He could taste the dark chocolate flavor of the tobacco and he plopped down in his father's chair, propping his bare feet on the worn wood of the desk top.

A minute later he frantically stubbed out the stogie as footsteps approached the office door.

The stern unsmiling face of his father loomed above him before he knew it.

"If you're going to begin smoking cigars, you don't start with the most expensive I own." The elder Smith whipped the Saint Luis Rey out of John's hands and replaced it with a three inch long White Owl stub from the ashtray. "Here, allow me."

He lit it for the young boy and crossed his arms while the teen coughed and gagged his way through the remainder of the cigar.

"Until you can afford the Saint Luis Rey Cubans for yourself, you can smoke these." Without another word, his father left the office and went back to bed.

"Uh, Hannibal? The plan?" Face brought his thoughts back to the present and the wonderful taste of the Cohiba Esplendido in his mouth.

"Okay, men. Here's what we're going to do." And Hannibal smiled around the stub of his truly magnificent cigar.


	7. Chapter 7 Hay Bale Getaway

7. Hay Bale Getaway

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Hannibal's quote of the month: Make the best with what tools and talents you have been given.

oooooo

"Okay, okay. So this wasn't part of the plan." Hannibal ducked behind the stack of hay bales, his cigar firmly clamped in the side of his mouth.

His Lieutenant was already hiding there. Face occasionally raised his head long enough to return fire on the kidnapper and his henchmen. They had likewise taken cover among the trees forming the boundary between the farmyard and the forest.

"Really? You mean you didn't anticipate them not wanting us to grab Porter's daughter and bring her back to her father?" The conman gave Hannibal a sarcastic smirk and reloaded his nickel plated Colt Lawman MK III. Peering back over his shoulder at the barn, he shook his head. "I just hope our ammunition holds out long enough for B. A. and Murdock to rig something up."

"Don't worry. They know what to do. Here." The Colonel shoved the Uzi carbine into Face's hands and muttered, "Cover me."

As the Lieutenant laid down cover fire, Hannibal ran in a semi-crouch back to the dark confines of the barn.

"What've we got, B. A.?" The Colonel gave Sheila Porter, the purpose of their mission, a nod as he entered the building and strode back to where his men were hard at work. He glanced approvingly at the hay wagon and the tractor hooked up to it. The burly mechanic had affixed the doors of an old Ford truck to either side of the driver's seat. Hay bales wedged in the broken out windows provided extra protection for the driver.

B. A. grunted as he lifted another hay bale up to the back of the wagon. "Enough of these linin' the walls of this an' we should have a movin' barricade." He looked up at Murdock who seemed to have a bit more of a struggle than the black man as he hefted the bale into place on the fourth tier on the left side. "Make sure ya leave 'nough of a gap to fit the barrel of a gun through."

The pilot let out an exasperated huff and shifted the position of the bale slightly. Placing his hands on his hips and glaring at B. A. in mock consternation, he sneered, "Details, details. Should I cover th' interior with art deco prints, make it more homey?" Turning his attention to Hannibal, he asked, "Billy says he wants to get outta here pretty soon, Colonel. Don' we have 'nough o' these in place?"

Hannibal smiled indulgently, a sparkle in his eye. "You're the tallest one among us, Captain. Why don't you see if you have enough cover if you crouch down behind that hay wall?"

"Aw, but Colonel. B. A. here's a city boy. I'm th' one's been raised on th' farm. Can't I drive, jus' this once?" The Captain was in full pout as he cocked his head to one side and looked down at the two men.

"Okay. You can drive. But we still have to know there's enough of a wall for B. A., Face and me. So humor me." Murdock's smile took over his whole face and the Colonel's grin widened in response.

As the pilot did as he was ordered, the Colonel clapped B. A. on the shoulder. "Sloppy of Warner to give us all the tools we need to make our getaway."

The black Sergeant shrugged and Murdock nodded from his position behind the hay bale wall. "Should be good 'nough, Colonel. If ya hand me up that grenade launcher 'n' the rifle, I'll put 'em in position. Oh, 'n' th' li'l lady, too."

The Colonel handed the weapons to the pilot, then helped the young teen up into the back of the wagon. "Find a place near the front and lie flat on your stomach." After seeing her do what she was told, the Colonel let B. A. take position with the Ruger AC556K and he crouched beside him with the other weapon.

"Let's go, Captain!" Hannibal yelled even as Murdock climbed up and over the truck doors and into the tractor seat.

The pilot turned over the engine and as the knocking sound evened out and the hay wagon jerked forward the two men and girl in back could hear a "Yahooo!" that trailed off into a howl of triumph.

The Colonel's eyes glinted with amusement as he muttered, "Nice, Murdock."

As they cleared the barn doors, he yelled, "Time to go, Lieutenant" and laid down fire as the conman scrambled into the wagon.


	8. Chapter 8 A Lesson in Teamship

8. A Lesson in Teamship

AN: Gratiot Township no longer exists. It was incorporated into the city of Harper Woods in 1951. The city is about twelve miles northeast of Detroit, Michigan. The East Side Drive-In Theatre no longer exists. It opened for business in 1938 and closed in 1977. The character Jack Harmon was introduced in the Season Four episode "Blood, Sweat and Cheers" and was played by Stuart Whitman.

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

"Jack, when I say 'Run,' you run as fast as you can and distract them. I'll get Corinne and make sure Ackery never tries this again." John "Hannibal" Smith shot an icy blue-eyed glance at his best friend as they watched the scene in front of them.

Jack Harmon crouched beside him. They were hidden from view behind one of the garbage cans near the concession stand. In the semi-darkness the two seventeen-year-olds could see the scattered remains of soft drink cups and popcorn boxes, the refuse of a Saturday night at the East Side Drive-In Theatre.

They could also see Lyle Ackery and two of his friends forming a tight semi-circle around a defiant Corinne.

Jack Harmon and John Smith had driven separately to Gratiot Township outside of Detroit that night. Both knew Corinne Schaefer was working and needed a ride home. Neither expected to see the other. They certainly didn't expect to see Ackery and his friends there.

Several minutes before, while the ending credits rolled for the final feature of the night, _Back to Bataan_, she locked the ticket booth. Getting on the bicycle used to patrol the grounds during and after the double feature, she lazily pedaled to the ladies' restroom to clean it. Most of the cars remaining were either teen couples too passionately involved to realize the movie was over or employees like her quickly doing their jobs so they could get home.

It was when she dismounted and wandered to the janitor's supply room that the threesome confronted and backed her up against the wall.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" John hissed as he watched Kyle move closer to the girl. The smirk on his face and his swagger told them everything about his intentions.

"You're the one that's co-captain of the Dearborn High School track team. You can sprint faster than me." Jack turned his suspicious dark brown eyes on his friend. "Besides, why should you be the one to rescue the damsel in distress?"

Ackery raised his hand to cup Corinne's chin at the same time his two friends pinned her arms to the concrete block wall behind her.

Seeing the threat, John let out a frustrated growl. "Okay, okay! The lady needs help now. We'll both free Corinne from those slimeballs."

"First one to get two out of three wins the girl. Deal?" Harmon cocked one bushy black eyebrow at him and grinned.

"No deal." The future Colonel shook his head furiously. "On the count of three we attack. One . . . two . . . three!"

The two teens knocked over the garbage cans as they burst out from their hiding place. The cans rolled downhill toward the restroom building and crashed against the wall, spilling their contents.

Seconds later John gripped a handful of Kyle Ackery's T-shirt as Jack grappled with one of the two startled teens who had been holding Corinne.

John drew his fist back and landed a solid punch to Kyle's jaw that drove the back of his head into the block wall behind him. Ackery sank to the ground unconscious.

"That was one," Smith yelled to Harmon. He reached for the third member of the trio and wrestled him to the ground. Forcing the teen onto his back, his fist connected twice. As the young man wrapped his arms over his face to protect an already bleeding nose, John sat back, still straddling him in case he tried anything. "And this is two. You hear me, Jack?"

"Are you alright, Corinne? Do you need a ride home?" Jack's tone was full of "the jazz." From the direction of the voice, John knew his friend was already consoling the girl they both loved.

"Hannibal" Smith staggered to his feet and watched Ackery's two friends collect his unconscious form and drag him toward their waiting car. Jabbing a finger in the air after them, he shouted a warning. "You tell Ackery he'll get double what he got tonight if he messes with Corinne again."

Rubbing his knuckles he approached Corinne and Jack where they stood waiting for him.

He was bewildered to see the young woman shaking her head and smiling at both of them in turn. "I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come to my rescue. But I do have to finish my job before I can even think of going home. My father should be here in about twenty minutes to pick me up. But now I'll have to also get that garbage back in those cans." She arched an eyebrow as she put an arm around both of their waists. "Unless, of course, you two wouldn't mind . . . "

John looked at Jack and grinned. "Whoever gets their garbage can filled first?"

"No deal, buddy. Now let's just help the little lady out and let her father get her home. This time."


	9. Chapter 9 Just One More Game

9. Just One More Game

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Hannibal squinted at Face from over the top of the ten cards in his hand. The kid was definitely holding something. Any moment now, Face was going to make his final meld and lay his cards down.

With a slightly raised eyebrow and a smile that showed his gleaming white teeth, the Lieutenant nodded to the draw pile. "I believe it's your turn, Colonel."

From the bunk in the next cell, B. A. grunted his disapproval. "Man, you been playin' that since we got locked up in here. Thought ya'd have a plan by now, Hannibal."

The Colonel peered down at his cards through a cloud of cigar smoke. "Escape plans take time. You have to know the people who have you imprisoned and the place you're being held. Just as to win at gin rummy, you have to out-think your opponent, plan your strategy."

Face gave the older man another dazzling smile and addressed the Sergeant without looking in his direction. "That's right, B. A. That's the reason I've won three out of the last four hands."

His smile turned into a pained grin as he overheard the black man mumble, "Bet ya found a way ta tip the scales in yer favor. Couldn't be skill."

Hannibal tapped the cards he held while he thought.

Murdock was somewhere out there in the desert town and Amy was with him. Sullivan, the man who was trying his hardest to steal their clients' mom and pop variety store and turn it into a combination of massage parlor, men only sauna and front for prostitution, was out there, too. Sullivan had the three of them arrested when they were found in his office going through his papers.

Hannibal examined the expression of the man sitting in front of him on the bunk. The police chief had placed his personal seal on their arrest. The side of Face's lip stopped bleeding by now but it was still a bit swollen. A request for ice for the swelling lip and black eye was met with a snort of derision.

"So sue me for police brutality," Police Chief Garcia smirked before closing and locking the door leading to the cell area of the jail.

Face leaned back a little. "Whenever you want to make your move, Colonel."

_I wonder if he's collecting kings. _

Hannibal touched the king of diamonds in his hand and then thought better of it. Tossing the ace of spades on the discard pile, he cocked his head and returned his Lieutenant's smile. His smile quickly faded. "Not again," he groused.

"Mm-mm-mm. You weren't trying to hold out on me, were you, Hannibal?" Face scooped up the ace and quickly laid down all four aces, all four tens and the jack, queen and king of hearts. "Gin."

A small disturbance from the office area of the jail drew the attention of all three men. They looked up as the door was unlocked to the sound of a wheezing elderly man's voice.

"Now, Sarah, I ain' gonna listen t' ya no more. Th' boy's been trouble since th' day we 'dopted 'im 'n' he's gotta learn." The aged man who followed the officer into the cell area was thin and walked with difficulty, leaning on a cane as he went. Even though his shoulders were stooped, he was still taller than the man ahead of him. And as he gazed at Hannibal from under bushy gray eyebrows and a shock of equally gray hair, he gave him a cautious wink and a lopsided grin, unseen by the officer.

The Colonel shot his Lieutenant a knowing glance and, with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes, watched the scene play out.

The gray-haired woman with the man wore a dark blue calico dress and gold wire-rimmed 'granny glasses.' Her wrinkled face was contorted and flushed with the tears she had been shedding. Like the man, she was taller than her bent back would seem to indicate.

"But Henry, he don' know no better, comin' from th' orphanage lak he did. All he needs is a li'l love 'n' attention." She gripped the younger man's shoulder as he shut the door to the outer office. "Don' you agree, sonny?" Quickly lifting her skirt, Amy removed a Smith and Wesson from the garter around one of her support hose and stuck the barrel in his ribs. "And I'm sure he wouldn't mind havin' one of these while he's at it."

"Now if you wouldn't mind, we'll have those keys and take our 'son' and his friends out of here." The elderly man straightened to his full six foot, two inch height and pressed the officer's back into his chest. Using his cane to throttle the younger man by the neck, he edged close to the cell where Hannibal waited to remove the keys from the belt.

"Little slow, fool." B. A. grumbled his greeting as Murdock tossed the officer into the newly vacated cell from which Face and Hannibal emerged.

"What d' you mean 'slow?'" The pilot turned indignant brown eyes on the black man. He handed him a pistol from Amy's straw purse.

"Our escape _was_ a bit slower than usual. We managed to get in five complete games of gin rummy this time." The Colonel blew a cloud of cigar smoke toward the captive officer. "Sorry we can't stay to play a few rounds with you but we did leave the cards so you can have a game or two of solitaire."

And Hannibal chuckled.


	10. Chapter 10 Mr Lee's Origin

10. Mr. Lee's Origin

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Her laugh broke the silence. It was a nervous laugh, carefully thrown out to counter the two questions he had just asked.

"Are you alone tonight? Would you like me to swing by and pick you up?"

If he could have grasped every word of those two questions through the telephone lines and wrested them from her mind, he would have.

The shaky laugh combined with what he already knew, that Jack's car was parked outside Corinne's parent's house, led him to one conclusion. His best friend was right there, likely so close to her that his breath was tickling the fine hairs behind her delicate ear.

"I don't know what to say, John. I was thinking of spending a quiet night at home studying for tomorrow's geometry test. Maybe some other time?" The apologetic tone in Corinne's voice sounded sincere and full of regret. But she had not asked him to come and help her study.

_My good buddy Jack's probably doing that. _

John scowled as he said, "Yeah, well, okay. I guess I'll see you tomorrow in school then, huh?" As he hung up the phone he darkly contemplated what kind of studying his best friend and Corinne might be doing together.

For their entire four years of high school, Jack Harmon and John Smith had been friendly rivals for the hand of Corinne Adams. When Corinne became a cheerleader on the football cheerleading squad, both Jack and John tried out for the freshman football team. Jack started as a benchwarming replacement quarterback and made his way by his senior year into the starting position. John, lighter in weight and quick on his feet, immediately moved into one of the wide receiver positions.

Neither would admit that Corinne was the reason he tried out.

The three were often seen together, enjoying each other's company.

But tonight Jack was alone with Corinne and John could not allow that to go unchallenged.

He considered doing something to Jack's 45 Ford convertible. His best friend wouldn't be able to take Corinne to Belle Isle Park or to Rouge Park on Spinoza Drive to make out. But pranks like rolling down the driver's side window and scattering glass on the pavement and the seat, then telling his friend something had happened to his car, would almost certainly be repaid. Jack was no dummy.

No, doing anything to the car was out of the question. Running through all of the stunts he could pull to get Jack to leave, John finally hit on one he thought might do the trick this time.

He called Corinne's number again and got into character. "Ah, yes. Mister Lee's Laundry Service. Is Mister Jack Harmon there? . . . Young Mister Jack's honorable mother telling me he is stopping by in ritter while to get honorable father's dry cleaning? Shop closes soon so must hurry, please? 7943 Schaefer Road? Much thankee, young missee."

A half hour later John parked his 46 Chrysler Royal in the same spot where Jack Harmon's convertible had been minutes before. Whistling "You Are My Sunshine," he strode up the walkway and rapped sharply on the door of Corinne's house.

Corinne herself answered.

"Well, fancy seeing you here, _Mister Lee._ You wouldn't happen to know anything about calculating the surface area of a sphere, would you?" Arching an eyebrow at him, she crossed her arms and cocked her head to one side. She didn't look happy.

"You mean you really _were _studying for that test tomorrow?" John gulped.

"What did you _think_ we were up to?" She paused. Her eyes widened. "Oh."

"Yeah. Oh." John took a deep breath and scrutinized her face. "So, do you still need help studying for that exam?"

As Corinne let him in and they sat down together on the sofa, her geometry book open in her lap, his arm loosely draped over her shoulders, he wondered how many more times he could get away with using Mister Lee as a decoy.

_Maybe never again. And certainly not with Jack Harmon._

ooooooo

**AN: There are 42 more of these to go. Do you have any things you always wanted to know about John "Hannibal" Smith? Any story ideas? I will try to use what you send me within the boundaries of what is comfortable for me to do. Thanks ahead of time. **


	11. Chapter 11 Fight the Demons

11. Fight the Demons

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Hannibal checked his wristwatch for what may have been the tenth time since sitting down in the recliner with a blanket over him.

3:15 in the morning. He sighed and stood up, stretching.

Attempting to be as quiet as he could, he crept into the kitchen of his apartment and started a pot of coffee. Murdock was still asleep on the hide-a-bed in the living room after a very restless nightmare-filled night. Bogey the Bear sat on the pillow beside the pilot's head. The flap on the stuffed animal's back was closed.

Hours before, Hannibal had removed Murdock's Browning Hi-Power from its secret compartment and removed the cartridge, returning the unloaded gun and pocketing the ammo.

There was no use tempting fate. When Murdock woke to see invisible demons surrounding him, he was inclined to use the weapon to drive them away.

It didn't happen often but the Colonel preferred not to have to explain a gunshot in the middle of the night or bullet holes in the wall. He wanted to have his damage deposit back at the end of his stay, if at all possible.

Hannibal poured himself a cup of coffee and padded out to the living room to sit again in the recliner in the corner. From there he could immediately intervene if the pilot woke screaming or fighting to protect himself. He took a sip and winced as he noted the beginnings of a frown on his friend's face.

_He wouldn't be having nightmares like this again if I had been more careful in screening the client. _

The latest mission had left all of them shaken but the one who seemed to have taken their client's betrayal the worst was Murdock. He trusted people more than any of the other three men.

_He's always been more trusting, more optimistic, more innocent, than the rest of us. _

Murdock was the one who believed the young Vietnamese-American woman with the pleading jet black eyes, the prosthetic leg and the tragic story. He had convinced the rest of them she needed help to find her long-lost brother. After all, how could someone who suffered so much not be telling the truth?

_If I had known how this was going to turn out, who she worked for, I wouldn't have allowed any of my men to meet with her. _

The Colonel himself felt some sympathy for the tale she spun about losing her leg to a well-hidden mine meant for American soldiers. She led them to the vengeful son of one of the POW camp guards. Hannibal and Murdock were both captured when they moved in to help the young man supposedly to escape.

Their confinement in a bamboo cage and subsequent torture was meant to simulate one of their POW experiences. It was too realistic for Murdock. After B. A. and Face rescued them, Hannibal had to use a sedative to calm him down.

_I can still hear him. _

The older man leaned back against the recliner's headrest and closed his eyes. The pilot had not recognized either of his rescuers and fought them with the furious strength of a trapped wildcat. When he woke from his forced nap, he was more coherent but the experience had still taken a toll on him.

Face and B. A. agreed with Hannibal that it was better for the traumatized pilot if he did not return to the VA hospital right away. Even if the two had _not_ agreed, the Colonel would have refused to deliver him to the hands of the VA doctors.

_All they would have done would be to sedate him, restrain him, lock him away in a padded cell and maybe even give him electroshock. _

Watching the pilot in the bed begin to moan and move his head back and forth, the Colonel sighed and put his cup to the side.

He thought back over thirty years to his own return from the Korean War. If not for the devoted care someone had given him when he had nightmares that troubled his sleep, he would have been in the kind of condition this younger man was in after the Vietnam War.

_I'm sorry I wasn't there as soon as you got back to the States. But I'm here now. However long it takes, I'm going to be here for you. We'll fight those demons together, you and me, Captain. _

And maybe someday _all_ of their demons would be destroyed, never to be conjured up again.


	12. Chapter 12 Night at the Operetta

12. Night at the Operetta

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Over the years John Smith escorted his mother numerous times to the Broadway-Capitol Theater but for some reason, he sensed this evening was different.

Earlier, they boarded the red and cream GM coach bus close to the Wyoming Street terminus. As was her habit, his mother chose to ride the bus rather than be jostled on the Michigan Avenue streetcar by factory workers going home from their shifts.

After he got his driver's license and his 46 Chrysler Royal, he suggested he could drive her to the venue. She would hear nothing of it. The coach ride had become so much a mother-son tradition from the time John was six years old and able to behave himself at the opera that she was reluctant to change it. So John didn't insist.

As usual, his mother was nervous and excited on the way to the opera house. Her energy rubbed off on her teenage son. She clasped her white gloved hands together in her lap, occasionally tucking a stray lock of her hair back into place as they rode in companionable silence to their destination. That hadn't changed.

_What has? _

Did he really need to give it much thought to come up with the answer?

The last time his mother was on stage was almost half a year ago.

_Before my father died. _

Finances were tight since then. John took an after school job as a busboy at the Roma Cafe on Riopelle Street in the Eastern Market neighborhood of Detroit. His mother rented part of the house to a black man from the South who worked shifts at the Ford River Rouge automobile assembly plant. He hoped to someday move his family to the city.

She gave voice lessons to young girls whose parents had starry visions of their daughter becoming the next Maria Callas or Renata Tebaldi. Most of them did not have the talent or the passion to pursue their parents' dreams. John's mother had the passion.

He had never witnessed such intense grief as that his mother showed when she thought he wasn't watching. This was her return to the stage she loved. This was a step toward her healing. He was certain of it. He stole a quick sidelong glance at her as they left the bus. The passion was there in her eyes.

They walked past the grand fountain named after Russell Alger, former United States senator and governor of Michigan. A statue of a Roman goddess with sword and shield stood in the midst of its watery spray. How the female with the stern face and clothed in a flowing gown symbolized the state of Michigan, John could never figure out. He resisted an urge to ask his mother for a penny to toss into the fountain. The wish he wanted to make was impossible to fill.

_I'm the man of the family now. Time to put away childhood things. _

His mother pressed a nickel into his hand. She gave him an amused look. With twinkling eyes, she murmured, "Go ahead. Toss one in for me. I'll make the wish."

Flicking the coin with his thumb from the end of his finger, he watched it sail in an arc and plunk softly into the water. Before it settled to the bottom of the pool to join all the others, mother and son turned toward the main entrance to the opera house.

The grandeur of the spacious lobby with its plush blue and red carpet, enormous chandeliers and ornate woodwork never failed to impress him. It was every potential bride's wish to be married here. He knew that because it was what Corinne Schaefer told him she thought about when she considered her future. If he allowed himself the luxury of envisioning it, he could almost see himself in a traditional tuxedo as she, dressed in a mist of white lace and satin, stood beside him in the Great Hall to take their vows.

"I must hurry now and get backstage. I'll see you in your usual seat, Johnny?" His mother placed one hand on his cheek as she gazed into his eyes. For a moment she seemed to be worried he would not be there when she glanced into the audience.

_She should know I won't abandon her now. Especially not now. _

"I'll be there, Mom, you know I will." He tried hard not to flinch away with embarrassment at the maternal fussing she was doing over his appearance, stroking back his hair with her gloved hand, straightening his shirt collar and tie.

She pulled away and clasped his shoulders to give him one more scrutinizing look. Then she smiled, a tender warm glow in her eyes. Her voice was choked with emotion as she murmured, "I wish your father would have come with you to watch me just once before he died. He used to all the time before we were married, before he became so involved in his work."

John didn't know what to say. So he gave her a quick hug and a peck on the cheek. "I'll be there," he emphasized and watched as she smiled again and disappeared toward the backstage area.

Moments later as he settled himself into his seat in the third row, center, behind the conductor's podium, he sighed. He didn't even know which operetta his mother would be performing nor what role she would be singing that night. She had been a mezzo-soprano for her entire operatic career.

_The Pirates of Penzance. Gilbert and Sullivan. Some interesting parts in that one. _

He scanned the program for his mother's name.

_Helen Smith as Ruth. There was a time not so long ago she would have been cast as Mabel, the love interest of Frederic, the Pirate Apprentice, instead of Frederic's nursemaid. _

He wondered if being given an older female's role bothered his mother at all. It bothered him for some reason and he didn't know why.

It wasn't until the duet between Frederic and Ruth that he understood.

Armando Briggs, portraying Frederic the pirate apprentice, sang the first line, "Oh, false one, you have deceived me!"

His mother, dressed in a long hoodless cloak which covered her pirate's garb, questioned him. "I have deceived you?"

Briggs lifted his chin and turned away resolutely, his face an angry scowl. "Yes, deceived me! You told me you were fair as gold!"

John's mother clutched at his sleeve as if to beg for his attention. "And, master, am I not so?"

He faced her and gestured with one hand. "And now I see you're plain and old."

In the audience, John winced.

_Plain and old? _

His mother replied, "I'm sure I'm not a jot so."

"Upon my innocence you play." If he didn't know the accusation was part of the operetta, the teen would have been up on stage asking the young man to clarify his statement.

"I'm not the one to plot so." As Helen placed her hand upon her breast in a feigned proclamation of innocence, Briggs hurled his next observation. Again John grimaced.

"Your face is lined, your hair is grey."

The teen peered up at his mother on stage. Was she wrinkled and grey? He had not noticed before how much the death of his father had physically changed her.

_Or is that the stage makeup? _

"It's gradually got so." She cast her gaze to the floor of the stage in a meek admission of the accuracy of his statement.

Briggs pushed past her and climbed a small slope disguised to look like a sand dune. He cast another accusation at her. "Faithless woman, to deceive me, I who trusted so!"

Throwing herself at his feet, clutching one leg tightly to herself, Helen begged his mercy. John's stomach was in turmoil. He hoped his mother never became as desperate for a companion as this role painted her.

Why couldn't _she_ have been Mabel?

The answer was in the final declaration she made. "My love unabating has been accumulating forty-seven year."

He had to think. Was his mother really forty-seven years old? His heart sank as he did the quick calculations.

_No, she's fifty-four. _

But looking at his mother's face as she stormed off in mock outrage at the young pirate apprentice, he knew she didn't feel that old.

And to him maybe she would never be that old.


	13. Chapter 13 Waffles

13. Waffles

AN: This week's Hannibal story was inspired by the single word "waffles" that my youngest daughter said before starting her school work for the day.

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

B. A. answered the door to his mother's Chicago apartment.

He put a finger to his lips when he saw it was Hannibal back from his four hour early morning shift watching for Decker and his MPs. Face had left ten minutes before to spell him. Their sleep was a small sacrifice to make to ensure Mrs. Baracus could spend one Mother's Day with her own son.

"Momma's still sleepin'. Ya gotta be quiet."

The corners of the Colonel's mouth quirked upward in a small acknowledgement of the Sergeant's doting concern for his mother. He sniffed the air and raised an eyebrow at the smells coming from the kitchen.

"Fool thought Momma'd like some homemade strawberry waffles with whipped cream an' maple syrup for Mother's Day. He saw I'd got Momma a red rose in a fancy vase an' he wanted t' do somethin' for her, too." B. A. glanced toward the kitchen, a sheepish grin on his face. "When he does stuff like this, he ain' too bad t' have 'round."

Hannibal knew that was as close of a statement of brotherhood as he was likely to get from the black man. He nodded and smiled. "So will there be enough for all of us or is this just a small batch Murdock's making?"

"Don't know for sure. He bought all the stuff early this mornin' an's been out there for 'bout an hour. Been real quiet so's not t' spoil the surprise." B. A. frowned. "Almost too quiet. It ain' natural."

"Maybe I'll go on out to the kitchen and see if he'd like me to take over some of the waffle-making." The Colonel glanced toward the kitchen and moved past the Sergeant. The look on B. A.'s face stopped him.

"What?" Hannibal asked, irritation tinging the word.

"Well . . . " B. A. shut the door carefully behind the Colonel and studiously avoided his gaze.

"Well?" The older man put his hands on his hips and waited. He knew what was coming. He just wanted to hear it.

"Well, this is th' fool's gift ta Momma an' maybe he'd like ta do it all by hisself." The Sergeant hedged around the question.

"But he probably has your mother's portion done so all I'd be helping with is what the rest of us would be eating." Hannibal raised an eyebrow, daring B. A. to express the real reason he was uncomfortable having the Colonel in the kitchen.

The Sergeant swallowed. There was silence for several seconds.

"I'll be in the kitchen if you need me." Hannibal patted B. A. on the shoulder before heading toward the source of the food aromas.

When he got to the doorway, he paused and watched for a few seconds with crossed arms and a smile on his face.

A radio played with Prokofiev's "Love For Three Oranges March." Murdock whistled soundlessly through his teeth and waved a fork in the air in time to the music. Opening a waffle iron with a flourish, he used his impromptu baton to pry another perfectly formed waffle from the iron. Hannibal could see the satisfied smile on the pilot's face.

He turned the waffle over onto a stack of already made waffles and covered them again to hold in the heat. Seeing Hannibal out of the corner of his eye, he froze in place for a moment. His mouth fell open slightly and then he covered his surprise with a lopsided grin.

"Hiya, Hannibal. Breakfast's almost ready. Faceman ate already. Jus' go have a seat 'n' I'll letcha have the next couple, fresh off th' griddle." Talking quickly, the cook nodded toward the kitchen table as he stood in front of the waffle iron as if to protect it.

"B. A. said you've been really quiet out here. I thought I'd check and make sure you didn't need some help."

"Help?" The pilot's grin disappeared as he swallowed once. "If you wanna help, I need someone t' pour the O. J. inta glasses 'n' set th' table. Yeah, that'd be a huge help. Thanks?" Murdock's voice had an almost pleading tone to it.

Hannibal strolled over and glanced into the bowl of pinkish colored batter. "Looks good. Your recipe?"

"Um . . . yeah." Murdock grabbed the bowl and opened the waffle iron, turning away from the older man. "Jus' 'bout done. 'Nough for maybe three more."

"I remember making waffles one time for my mother. For Mother's Day, as I recall," the Colonel mused. He scrutinized the large rectangular silver appliance and shook his head. "Even looks like the one I used back home in Detroit. This must be a vintage model."

Murdock cleared his throat, keeping his eye on pouring the batter onto the griddle. "B. A. says Momma got this as a weddin' gift way back in th' 40's."

"Ah." Hannibal hovered near the pilot's elbow. "You can fill it more than that."

"Uh . . . no, I can't. It'll squeeze out all over th' place 'n' make a mess." The Captain hurriedly shut the lid and turned to the older man. Seeing the hurt in Hannibal's eyes, he paused for a second and offered the fork to his CO. "I'll go get the tray for Momma ready. You can do the last two, okay?"

The Colonel grinned. "Thanks, Captain. It'll be just like back home."

B. A. had come into the kitchen and was having a quiet conversation with Murdock over by the kitchen table. The two men glanced over to Hannibal and the pilot shrugged. Under his breath, he muttered, "Let 'im have his fun. What's the worse can happen, Big Guy? Burned waffles? Batter all over th' counter?"

There was a loud pop and the radio and kitchen light both shut off at once. Both men raised their eyebrows as Hannibal looked around him in surprise.

"_That_ can happen. Musta blown a fuse somewhere. Keep puttin' t'gether Momma's tray an' I'll go check it out." Without another word B. A. fished in a drawer for a flashlight and left the apartment to go down to the basement.

"What just happened?" The older man scowled up at the light. "I didn't do that."

"Now, Colonel, I'm sure it wasn't your fault. Here, why don'tcha sit down 'n' let me dish ya up." Murdock pulled out a chair at the table and gestured to it. He sighed in relief as he served his CO.

"Everyone's a wise guy," Hannibal grouched as he took his seat. "Even the power company."


	14. Chapter 14 At the Ball Park

14. At the Ball Park

AN: The same Tigers pitcher, Al Benton, was credited with the win for both of these games. He was the only player who was on both the 1938 and 1948 team roster. In 1938, "Hammerin Hank" Greenberg made three team records: the highest slugging average by a righthander (.683), most home runs by a righthander (58), and most home runs at home (39).

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

"Well, here we are, Pop." John Smith pasted an encouraging smile on his face as he took his aging father's arm to help him off the streetcar. "Briggs Stadium."

His mother would never have taken the streetcar but his father didn't mind. The way the other riders jostled them to get either a seat or a standing position seemed to envigorate the elder Smith for the venue they were about to enjoy together.

"You're sure you have good seats? I don't want to be stuck behind some concrete column or in the nosebleed section in left field. And you've been away at West Point. You sure you know what you're doing and where we're going?" The elderly man's wheezy lungs did not prevent him from asking his twenty-year-old son the same questions he had asked before they left the family home in Dearborn to come here.

"Yes, Pop. I know what I'm doing and where we're going." John resisted an urge to roll his eyes. His father descended the final step onto the pavement in front of what was affectionately nicknamed "The Corner," home to the Detroit Tigers Major League Baseball team.

The year was 1948 and the Tigers were hosting the Philadelphia Athletics. It was early in the season, May 22, and the Tigers' thirteenth game at home and their thirtieth of the season.

The younger Smith wished he could have had made his visit to Detroit later in the year but his father's health was not the best and later may never happen. His father's advanced lung cancer made the future uncertain and bleak. While John, Jr., was in town he wanted to make his visit memorable.

The Tigers were also unsure of what lay in their team's future. Three years before, in 1945, the Detroit ball club brought the World Series title home when they defeated the Chicago Cubs. That was the past and they could not hang their hopes on past achievements.

So far, their 1948 season was fourteen to fifteen. The first six home games had been losses, not a very good omen for the following weeks. The first three, all handed to the Cleveland Indians, were especially difficult to take, with final scores that ranged from two to eight to four to seven. But the season was young

John, Jr., paused and took a look at the outside of the stadium. Some things never changed, he thought to himself with a private smile. The green and white structure was immense from the outside but inside he knew the stadium was so intimate that . To get to their seats in the upper deck in right field under the overhang known as "The Porch," they would have to ascend steps. He hoped his father would not mind the exertion to get to the wooden green seats in the bottom row. They were guaranteed to give a great view of the first base line.

Briggs Stadium had not yet given in to the night game trend that all other teams except the Chicago Cubs had. No night games meant no stadium lights. The game they were about to watch would be started and finished in daylight.

He sighed. The stadium would get those lights in June. Eventually all things changed, he realized as he listened to his father's labored raspy breaths.

He was relieved when they managed to find their seats. His father was winded but not so much that he thought he needed to find medical attention.

"Not bad, Johnny. Not bad." The older man squinted aside at his son and nodded his appreciation. "We're close enough to maybe grab a foul ball or home run if it comes our way."

"Remember 1938, Pop?" John raised his eyebrows and grinned. "You still have that ball?"

His father leaned back in his seat. His brows furrowed as if he were trying to remember, then the corners of his mouth twitched in the closest thing to a smile John ever saw on him. He gave the younger man a sly look.

"'Hammerin' Hank' Greenberg, wasn't it? September 17. The Tigers beat those damn Yankees seven to three. Fifth inning with two on base and he smacks one our way."

"And all I had to do was reach out with my glove and get it."

"We should have done this more often when you were growing up." Regret laced the older man's voice. "Listen. When . . . it . . . happens and I'm gone, make sure you get into the house and take that ball. It's yours. Your mother . . . she wouldn't know what to do with it." He gripped his son's arm and waited for him to make eye contact. "Promise?"

John, Jr., paused and swallowed before nodding his agreement. The younger Smith watched as the flag was raised on the pole that stood slightly to the left of center field against the wall. "Did I ever tell you how much I appreciated you taking me down after the game to get autographs from the players?"

"You did now and you're welcome . . . son." John Smith, Sr., swayed to his feet and placed his hand across his heart as the strains of "The Star-Spangled Banner" came over the loudspeaker.

John Smith, Jr., straightened and saluted the flag before placing his hand on his heart in an identical gesture. Some things didn't change. That included his father's loyalty and love for his country and for his son.


	15. Chapter 15 Guard Duty

Guard Duty

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Maggie peeked over the edge of her newspaper at Hannibal as they sat across from each other at her kitchen table.

The Colonel had driven to Bad Rock with the thought of taking the doctor out for a late lunch. When he arrived, he found Maggie had to stay close to home. One of her patients, Amanda Sunderson, had called and reported labor pains that were mild and sporadic but promised to increase in intensity and become closer together as the day progressed.

John understood. "Just as long as we're together, we can enjoy each other's company no matter what we do."

The hint of a smile tweaked the corners of her mouth and her dark eyes grew softer. Evidently, that included sharing Maggie's copy of the _Los Angeles Times_ over coffee and homemade blueberry scones.

He was unaware of the tender look she gave him as he read the sports section.

_It's moments like this that I think it wouldn't be too bad settling down with him and living the rest of our days together. But he can't, maybe never, and both he and I know it. _

She sighed and rose from the table, cup in hand. "Want some more coffee, John?"

Absently he picked up his own mug and gulped the last of the contents before handing it to her. "Sure." He glanced up, caught the last of her loving appraisal of him and laid the paper on the table. His eyes twinkled with amusement as she turned her back to him.

"Oh, Maggie?"

Holding a cup in either hand, she was unprepared when he hooked his arm around her waist. With a mischievous grin, he pulled her backwards onto his lap.

She gasped in surprise just before his lips cut off her breath.

"Now how am I going to fill your cup sitting here?" she murmured as he went in for a longer kiss.

"You can't, but this beats sugar in my coffee."

Putting the cups down on the table, she wrapped her arms around his neck and playfully rumpled his hair. "What am I ever going to do with you, Colonel Smith?"

"I don't know, Captain Sullivan, but I have a few suggestions." He smirked and ran his thumb along her cheek. Rather than argue she gave him another smaller kiss and stood up.

She was on her way to the enamelware coffee pot on the stove when the doorbell rang, followed by an urgent series of knocks.

Setting both cups on the counter-top, Maggie glanced back at Hannibal, a questioning frown on her face. The pregnant patient was expected to call before she came in to be delivered.

The Colonel drew his pistol from his shoulder holster and gestured toward the bathroom. She waited until he ducked inside and behind the door.

Only then did she hurry to the front door to open it.

Her expression turned grim. Framed by the doorway, a woman in a torn house-dress hunched in front of her. Both arms defensively hugged a swollen belly. The patient's stringy blonde locks hung over her face and hid her eyes until Maggie stroked back the disheveled hair.

"Amanda!" There was no time to do more than quickly note the marks around the woman's neck, the bruised cheek and gashed chin.

In seconds, she had one arm around her patient's waist as she desperately tried to prevent Amanda from collapsing onto the floor.

"John!" she called as the injured woman sagged against her. The pregnant patient whimpered as her belly hardened with a contraction.

"Breathe quick panting breaths. Ride out the pain. You can do it!" she ordered as she guided Amanda toward the examination room on the first floor.

"I've got her!" Hannibal appeared on the woman's other side and, with one sweeping movement, lifted her up into his arms. He saw the same injuries Maggie had observed and tightened his jaw in anger. "After you, Doc," he muttered.

Laying the patient gently on the examination table, the Colonel turned to Maggie. "Will you need assistance?"

The former Captain sensed discomfort at what Hannibal clearly must have thought was a "woman's domain."

"I'm a physician, John. If I can't deliver a baby by myself, I should go back to medical school." Glancing at Amanda who rested against the starched white pillow until the next contraction, Maggie drew the Colonel out of earshot. "I would like you to keep your eyes and ears open for trouble. If I'm right, Amanda's boyfriend Russell Fox may try to get in here to see her."

Hannibal narrowed icy blue eyes at the bruises around the woman's throat and face and then gazed at Maggie's worried expression. "I take it you believe he's responsible."

The doctor nodded. "It wouldn't be the first time I had to treat her for something he did to her."

"His baby too?" The Colonel's voice was a menacing growl that the doctor thought would make even B. A. stop what he was doing if he heard it.

Amanda began to clench the sides of the exam table as another contraction started. "Doc!" she rasped.

Maggie turned to help the young woman. "Yes, but the way he's treated her you would think he wanted to see it dead."

"He won't get within a foot of her, Doc. I promise both of you that." Without another word Hannibal left the room and closed the door on the two women. Maggie heard the sound of a chair being dragged across the floor and placed just outside the room.

oooooo

To Be Continued


	16. Chapter 16 Delivery

16. Delivery

AN: Delivery of a baby is described but nothing too graphic.

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

The baby's head was crowning. Amanda screamed as another contraction wracked her lower abdomen.

Even as Maggie readied the scalpel to do an episiotomy, she knew the young woman was tiring from her labor. "It'll be soon now. Don't push. Not yet. Blow out your breaths, small puffs. Focus on the breaths. That's right."

From beyond the room, she heard a banging on the front door that could easily knock it off its hinges. "Doc Sull'van! Ah know Mandy's in there. Lemme in." Each syllable the slurred angry voice uttered was punctuated by a blow that made Amanda's eyes widen in terror.

"He . . . followed . . . me . . . sorry . . . " she gasped out between huffing breaths.

"Don't worry. My friend out there knows what to do." The ex-Captain made eye contact with her patient. She kept her voice low and soothing. Steadying her hand, she made the cut that would prevent the young woman from tearing the perineum as the baby's head passed through the vaginal opening.

Maggie hoped John would be able to handle an obviously still-inebriated Russell Fox.

_At least he waited to drag his sorry ass over here. We're just about done here. _

"Ya deaf er somethin'? Lemme in!"

The doctor smirked as she heard Hannibal chuckle to himself and answer Fox. "Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin. You want more nursery rhymes, go back to school, but you aren't getting in here."

She heard the click of the Colonel's pistol being cocked and she realized she didn't have to worry about being interrupted before the baby was born.

_Of course John came prepared for any intrusion. He probably didn't imagine he would end up defending two women and a soon-to-be-born baby from a drunken boyfriend. _

The banging noise continued. "Ah don' know who ya are but I got ev'ry right ta be in there with my Mandy gal when she's havin' mah baby."

Maggie was certain she could detect a hard edge to John's voice as he answered. "Doesn't take a high school diploma to make a baby, pal. You gave up your rights to be in here when you beat that little lady. In my book, that means you don't pass 'Go,' you don't collect two hundred dollars and you certainly don't get to see her again."

"Mandy'll tell ya ah didn' mean no harm. Ah'll change mah ways. Right, sweetie?" The last two words were shouted loud enough to travel all the way through the sleepy town and into the surrounding hills.

"Sure, buddy. That's what every drunken slobbering fool says. Now go away before Doc Sullivan has a mess to clean up on her porch." There was no mistaking the threat in the Colonel's tone. Maggie hoped Russell heard it and left things well enough alone.

Before she could offer up a silent prayer to that effect, Amanda gripped both edges of the table with white-knuckled fists. "_Doc!_"

"Push now, Amanda! It's alright." No matter how many times she had done it before, Maggie still felt her heart exploding in her chest with the adrenaline rush as the baby's head appeared. "Another push! Bear down!"

She prayed Amanda had enough strength in her to finish the job. As quickly as the thought came into her mind, the rest of the baby's body surged out into Maggie's waiting hands.

She was vaguely aware that the banging sounds at her front door had stopped as she clamped off the umbilical cord and cut it. She suctioned the amniotic fluid from the baby's mouth and gently massaged its back until it let out a thin wailing cry. Scrutinizing the infant for any damage from the beating Amanda had taken, Maggie wrote the time of delivery and brief notes about the baby's condition on a sheet of paper. They would be needed later for the birth certificate and medical records.

Quickly swaddling the baby in a towel to preserve its body temperature, she turned to place the squalling infant in its mother's arms.

At about the same time, the window glass shattered as Russell Fox took a baseball bat to the pane and cleared it of all of its glass.

To Be Continued


	17. Chapter 17 Amanda's Choice

17. Amanda's Choice

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Maggie whirled toward the sound of breaking glass, backing up against the exam table as she did. Fox swung a leg over the sill and climbed through the opening. He stood swaying and gripping the bat in both hands as if ready to hit a home run.

"Lemme see mah girl, Doc, or yer gonna be sorry," he growled.

The doctor shook her head and spread her arms out to either side as if to protect the woman and child behind her. "Nothing doing, Russell. You'll have to come through me."

In response, Fox drew the bat even further back over his shoulder and above his head. He was seconds away from swinging it.

From behind her, Maggie heard Amanda sobbing in counterpoint to the healthy wails of her newborn child. Her own heart was thundering in her chest as she waited for the first blow.

For once, she wished she kept her service pistol in a drawer of the nearby cabinet instead of in the living room.

A second later, the door to the examination room slammed open, rattling the framed pictures on the wall.

"Trouble, ladies?" John analyzed the situation quickly. Pointing his Smith and Wesson at the intruder, he edged toward the doctor and her charges and gave Maggie a quick squeeze around the waist. Glaring at Fox he growled, "I can tell you my pistol trumps your baseball bat in a fight, friend. Drop it."

The inebriated boyfriend sobered when he saw the weapon. The bat clattered to the floor and he raised both hands in surrender. "Don' shoot, mister. Jus' wanted ta see mah baby," he blubbered.

Hannibal's eyes were a steely gray as he scrutinized the man in front of him. Nodding at Fox, he muttered to Maggie, "He sure is a persistent bastard, isn't he?"

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Letting him hold her, she rested her head on his shoulder for a moment and willed her legs to stop being so rubbery.

She found her voice and murmured, "Persistent and not very smart. If I'm not mistaken, this is a case of criminal trespass or vandalism, at the very least."

"I think you're right, Doc. But I may be able to persuade our friend here to take it outside where he and I can settle this in a reasonable manner." Hannibal gave the other man a chilling grin. "Don't you?"

"Ah got no battle with you, mister. Jus' wanted ta see mah baby," Fox repeated, his gaze intent on the hand holding the gun.

"Mo?" Hannibal used the name everyone who were friends with her called Maggie. Even if the man standing in front of him was inebriated and violent, she was the physician and it was her practice. It was ultimately her decision whether or not to allow the father to see his own child. Hers and the young lady's.

Maggie had moved to the foot of the table. Amanda was still in labor. The placenta had to be delivered, examined for any abnormalities. More had to be done now that the baby was delivered and Fox had interrupted that.

"Not when he's drunk like this, John." Looking up from what she was doing, her dark eyes flashed with anger and disgust at the man who moments before threatened her.

"You heard the lady. She said no. Let's take it outside, pal." Hannibal's voice was cool and collected. He stepped back toward the table and placed the pistol on the table with the rest of Maggie's surgical instruments. "I'm sure you won't need this, but just in case . . . "

She nodded. "Just don't make more work for me. I don't want to have to stitch him up. Or you either. Okay?"

The young woman on the examination table pushed herself into a semi-sitting position.

"Don't hurt him, mister. Please? He'll leave. Won't you, honey?" Amanda clutched the bundle containing her crying infant to her chest.

Maggie shook her head as she listened. She knew what was coming. Glancing up at John, she saw his frown of disbelief and realized he knew, too.

For several seconds all that could be heard in the examination room was the crying infant, Amanda's sniffles, Fox's harsh breaths and the song of a robin perched in a tree outside the smashed window.

"Get out of here," Hannibal growled. His voice had a resigned quality to it.

Fox staggered toward the door, stopping only to glare back at Maggie. "This ain' done, Doc. Not near 'nough."

Hannibal made a move toward the drunken man. Fox hesitated for a second, then stumbled out of the door and through Maggie's living room, slamming the front door as he left.

Glancing at the two women and taking his pistol back, the Colonel nodded toward the living room. "He's gone for now. I think I'll sit out there and make sure he doesn't come back. Leave this door open just in case. Okay?"

Maggie paused, the suturing needle in her hand. "I'll fix us both a new pot of coffee as soon as I'm done." She added with a grim smile, "I'm so glad you were here."

"So am I, sweetheart, so am I," he muttered as he moved the chair directly in front of the open door and sat down.


	18. Chapter 18 Protecting the Defenseless

18. Protecting the Defenseless

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Hours later, Hannibal sat with Maggie on the front porch swing, his arm loosely draped around her shoulders. They both held mugs of coffee in their hands and listened to grasshoppers whirring in the taller grasses. Amanda and her newborn daughter rested in a downstairs bedroom until the doctor was certain both were healthy enough to be released.

"I don't know for sure where she's going to go with little Rosa Jane when she leaves this house. From what I've heard, Russ had her move in with him as soon as he found out she was pregnant." Maggie sipped at her coffee and leaned her head back. Closing her eyes, she grimaced before adding, "So now she's so dependent on him she's afraid to be on her own again. He's convinced her that she deserves nothing better than him."

Hannibal said nothing. He gently squeezed her arm in response. He wasn't sure what to say. A woman like Amanda Sunderson who continued to return to a man who beat her . . . that was difficult for Hannibal to understand. It was harder still for him to understand a man like Russell Fox who not only beat his girlfriend but jeopardized the life of his own offspring.

After a few seconds of silence, she sighed and tilted her head to rest on his shoulder. "I know I can't read her mind but I can almost predict that she'll be back with him before Rosa's two weeks old. I wish she wouldn't but I've seen that happen too much to think it'll be any different this time."

"Filing that complaint against him will keep him away for a few days at least. You did the right thing, Doc. Even if Miss Sunderson refuses to file a complaint against him, he'll have to appear in court with those charges of attempted assault, trespassing and vandalism." He narrowed his eyes at the memory of the drunken man posed to hit Maggie with the baseball bat and tightened his hold on her.

"In the meantime, I suggested to Amanda that she ask her mother in Oregon if she can go up there with Rosa for an extended visit. She seemed to agree. As long as Russell doesn't talk to her and persuade her otherwise, I think she'll do that. I'm going to check and see what's she's decided after you go." She cuddled closer and shivered slightly.

"If she needs an escort up there to make sure Fox doesn't do anything, we can see about getting a chopper and have Murdock and Face accompany her. It'll get her there in a hurry, maybe before he finds out what her plans are." Hannibal sipped his coffee.

"And what would you be doing while they do that?" she murmured, a small smile on her lips.

"Guarding you." He set down his coffee mug and turned toward her. Cupping her chin in his hand, he looked into her brown eyes. He was not smiling. "Do you honestly think Fox is going to leave you alone once he gets out of jail and finds out Amanda and Rosa are gone?"

She sniffed and gave a soft bitter laugh. "No, I guess not. But you can't stay here forever, John. It isn't safe for you." She brushed her lips against his before sighing and settling back into his arms again. "Besides, this is my home. I can't live in fear all my life because of men like him. I have to do what's right, and giving Amanda and her little one a head start by pressing charges against Fox does that."

"You're some lady, Captain Sullivan. Smart, brave, looking out for the weak and defenseless . . . " His voice trailed off as he heard her chuckle.

"You're no slouch in those departments yourself, Colonel Smith."

They listened to the song of a robin high up in a pine tree and finished their coffee in silence.

With regret, Hannibal stood up an hour later and helped Maggie to her feet. Placing both cups on the porch deck railing, he held her hands and gazed somberly into her eyes. "I'm going to get the ball rolling with Face on scamming that helicopter. We can probably get her out of Bad Rock by noon tomorrow at the latest."

Maggie nodded. "If I have to pack her and Rosa myself and walk her out to the airport, I'll make sure she's ready when you are."

"I'll be back in time to drive her out there myself. When Face scams the chopper and springs Murdock, I'll bring them here and we'll get the little ladies on their way." He stroked her cheek with his thumb before giving her a lingering kiss.

Moments later he stepped away and headed down the porch steps. She paused with the empty cups in her hands, watching him as he went. "John?"

He turned at the bottom of the steps and looked up at her.

"Thanks for everything you're doing for Amanda."

Nodding, he added, "You make sure when I'm not here you keep your eyes open. I wouldn't take lightly the threat that slimeball made. It might not hurt to keep your service pistol near you and a telephone within reach if Fox should manage to get out of jail early."

"I'm not sure what my patients would think of my bedside manner if I carried a gun while I treated them." She smirked at the thought.

"That's an order, Captain."

If his words hadn't been accompanied by such a grim expression she might have argued. Instead she meekly nodded and murmured, "Okay."

As Hannibal drove the Corvette he borrowed from Face down the road, Maggie glanced around her and shivered slightly before entering the house. She set the cups in the kitchen sink and went to the drawer where her weapon was kept, checking to see if it was loaded and ready. Then she went to talk to Amanda about the plans to protect her and her baby. She hoped the young mother had not changed her mind.


	19. Chapter 19 Approaching Storm

19 Approaching Storm

AN: This will be at least a two- or three-part series. I am now a little over one-third of the way through the "Hannibal" chapters. Hope you are liking them.

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

The mountain cabin Face managed to secure was in a dense forest of lodgepole pines and white silver firs.

The last half mile to the cabin was on a dirt road that paralleled California State Highway 139 before making a ninety degree turn and ascending about one hundred feet in elevation. The nearest community was Canby, six miles away. They had to drive an additional thirteen miles to get to a grocery store. Hannibal thought about how isolated the retreat was and grimaced.

_Good thing we stocked up with plenty of food when we passed through. But it isn't enough for more than two days with B. A.'s appetite. _

The body of water Hannibal could see from the van window barely qualified as a lake. It was probably deep enough in the middle but water plantain and yellow pond lilies had taken over the shoreline all around. Narrow leaf cattails and eelgrass bobbed in the gusty wind.

_Definitely not a swimming lake. _

Murdock's eyes widened and he grinned as he saw the small wooden dock and the rowboat pulled up on shore. He was first out of the van, jogging toward the shore to check it out. His enthusiasm was contagious and Hannibal had to run to catch up with him.

The Captain let out a disappointed groan when he noted the large rotting hole in the bottom of the boat and the equally damaged dock. His shoulders slumped and his face became one large pout. He stood with his hands shoved in his pants pockets and stared disconsolately at the dilapidated dock and unseaworthy vessel.

Hannibal patted him on the shoulder. Anxiously glancing up at the darkening sky, the Colonel gestured with his head toward the cabin. "We'd better get everything unpacked now. Maybe you and I can do some shoreline fishing later."

Murdock responded with a huge pleased grin as they walked back to the van. "That'd be jus' fine 'n' dandy, Colonel. Betcha the fish're hidin' 'mong those lily pads near shore. You 'n' me'll catch 'nough t' feed even B. A."

A loud rumble and a flash of lightning announced the approach of a thunderstorm. Both men frowned up at the first few drops that fell.

_That is, if you want to be out there with all of this lightning crackling around you. Not to mention the rain. _

Hannibal grabbed Face's duffel bag from the back of the van and grunted with the weight of it. Handing it to him and giving the Lieutenant a pointed look and a raised eyebrow, he muttered, "What were you thinking when you packed this, Lieutenant?"

The con man gave him one of his conciliatory smiles, all teeth and charm, and cocked his head to one side. "I honestly don't know what you mean, Colonel." He carelessly slung the bag to his shoulder and walked up to the door of the cabin, brushing the rain drops from the shoulders of his suit jacket.

_Yeah, like I don't know you have every toiletry product known to mankind in that bag of yours. Ah well. If keeping up the appearance continues to get us accommodations nicer than this more often than not, I won't fault him for it. _

B. A. grunted and watched the Lieutenant pick the lock on the cabin door and swing it open. "Cabin looks pretty rustic, Hannibal. Think Face's gonna be in for a surprise." The fleeting mischievous half-smile he got on his face was quickly replaced by a scowl as the rain increased. "Hope this storm passes over quick. Don't know how long I'm gonna be able ta stand bein' cooped up with a crazy man's fool jibber-jabber an' Face's whining 'bout no indoor plumbin' an' no electricity."

The burly Sergeant took a bag of groceries in each arm and trudged toward the cabin. Hannibal stared after him and sighed.

_If this rain becomes a downpour, I'm going to spend more time refereeing than relaxing. _

"Overheard what th' Big Guy said. I promise I'll try 'n' not get on 'is nerves too much. It's jus' I sometimes can' help what comes out when I'm bored with nothin' t' do."

Hannibal turned toward the voice and found Murdock giving him an apologetic glance before letting his gaze wander down to the ground. He pushed the dampening soil around with one foot and rammed his hands in the pockets of his jacket. His brow furrowed with a confused look as if he didn't know what he ever did to cause the Sergeant to yell at him so often.

_I have to wonder again how many times it's just an act with you and how many times it's just a symptom of mental illness. _

Hannibal handed the pilot the propane camp stove and his duffel, noticing how light it was in comparison to that of the con man. "I know you'll try your best, Captain. Why don't you start some supper as soon as we're settled in? If B. A.'s stomach is full, he'll be more content."

"'N' less likely t' be his angry mudsuckin' self. I like th' way you think, Colonel." Murdock smiled and started on his way to the cabin.

"Oh, but Captain?" The older man hesitated and added, "No surprise ingredients, okay? Just a nice home cooked meal the way your grandmother would have cooked it."

Murdock turned his head and smirked back at him. "But Gramma was known for her secret recipes, Colonel." He winked and disappeared through the open door.

Hannibal rolled his eyes and grabbed the last of the gear and his own bag. Closing the van door, he took one more look at the roiling clouds above. A fat rain drop smacked him on the nose and he grumbled, "Thanks a lot, Mother Nature."


	20. Chapter 20 Sweet Melody

20. Sweet Melody

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

When Hannibal followed Murdock through the doorway of the small cabin, he noted that Face had already changed into a pair of designer jeans and a light blue polo shirt. A dark blue bandana around the neck and a pair of leather deck shoes completed his city slicker wilderness look.

_Something's up when Face dresses down like this. I bet he's expecting a visitor. _

"Dressing to impress, Lieutenant?" Hannibal playfully jabbed at the con man's ego and received a huffy reply.

"You never know if someone will be dropping in."

"'Nother words, th' person this cabin b'longs to is a pretty woman he knows 'n' he thinks it's likely she'll stop by for a visit." Murdock smiled at his friend. "Am I right? Huh?"

Face drew himself up to full height and lifted his chin in protest. "I met her last weekend at a fine arts festival. Melody told me to stop in any time I was in the neighborhood. I just took advantage of the offer. And I don't know if she'll be here or not."

_So I was right. He did set this up. _

B. A. snorted. "'In the neighborhood'? Seems ta me I drove a few miles outta my way ta get here."

"Melody, huh?" Murdock grinned widely and started to sing, emphasizing the word 'melody.'

"Sing us a song, you're th' piano man,  
Sing us a song t'night,  
Well, we're all in th' mood for a melody  
'N' you got us feelin' alright."

He continued to smirk until the con man swatted him across the chest with a rolled up women's beauty magazine from the mid-70s that had been left on the rustic coffee table.

The Colonel heard the name and frowned.

_Melody? I know a young lady called Melody. But then there has to be hundreds of women who go by that name in California. Doesn't there?  
_

"Now boys, I'm sure Face doesn't have any ulterior motives. But if a lovely young brunette should show up at the door . . . " Hannibal crossed his arms and smiled. He reached in the pocket of his safari jacket and pulled out a cigar.

"You'll all be on your best behavior. Right? _No_ cigar smoking in the cabin . . . " He nodded at the Colonel. Hannibal put his hands up in mock surrender and returned the cigar to his pocket. "_No_ van engines torn apart and being reassembled in the main room." B. A. growled his displeasure. "And _no_ . . . " Face thought for a moment and contemplated Murdock. "Where do I even begin?"

"Hey!" Murdock sputtered. B. A. rolled his eyes at the rules the Lieutenant was establishing but had to giggle at the put-down. "Ya got 'im there. Fool don't know when he's behavin' or not."

"I do so." The pilot stuck out his tongue at the black man. "I'm just overly impulsive."

The Lieutenant ignored both of them and spoke directly to Hannibal. "Besides, Melody is blonde, not brunette, and she has the most amazing emerald-green eyes you ever saw. She's very classy and I don't want any of you to ruin this budding relationship between us." Face turned toward the stone fireplace and began arranging kindling for a fire.

B. A. and Murdock looked at each other and mouthed, "Budding relationship?" before snickering behind their hands.

_Blonde hair? Emerald-green eyes? Naw, couldn't be.  
_

"Well, if she does appear at the door, she'll be stuck indoors with us for as long as it's raining outside." Hannibal walked over to the window and peered out at a torrential downpour.

Recovering from laughing, Murdock busied himself with rummaging through the grocery bags to find the ingredients for supper. As he took out a can of white chicken chunks and a box of macaroni noodles, he added, "'N' if the road up here's turned t' mud, we'll hafta figure out where she's gonna sleep."

_Good point, Captain. Sometimes I think you see the pros and cons of a situation better than the rest of us.  
_

Hannibal turned from the window and strolled over to one of the two bedrooms. Glancing in, he noted the impressive display of toiletry items laid out on the cedar dressertop. "I presume this is your room, Face?"

"Well . . . " Color rose in the con man's cheeks. "I'm the one who scammed the place. I figured I should have first dibs on rooms. Besides, how did you know . . . "

The Colonel turned a pair of twinkling amused eyes on the embarrassed Lieutenant. "Do you really need to ask?"

"'N' bein' th' best friend o' th' one who scammed th' place . . . " Murdock added.

"We'll see, gentlemen. If your Melody shows up, the arrangements might have to change." Hannibal hauled his sleeping bag into the next bedroom and left it rolled up on the bed.

"Aw, Hannibal!" Face argued when the older man returned.

Seconds later the cabin door opened and slammed violently against the wall. Each of the men reached for his pistol, half-expecting Decker and his MPs armed and standing in the doorway.

Instead, a young woman scanned them with furious eyes. Her wet plaid flannel shirt clinging to her and her blonde hair plastered to her head, she gaped at them before demanding, "Who are you and how did you get into my cabin?" In her hands she held her own pistol, a Browning Hi-Power, and she trained it on each of them in turn.


	21. Chapter 21 Kiss and Tell

21 Kiss and Tell

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Hannibal was the first to break the sudden uncomfortable silence by setting his gun down and speaking. "Melody Raymond? Is that you?"

_I can't believe it. After all these months. _

The blonde woman pushed back her wet hair from her face with one hand to squint at him. Moments later, she tucked her pistol away in the pocket of her rain slicker. "John Smith?" She beamed at him with obvious joy and captured him in an embrace. "How are you?"

He welcomed her into his arms. "I wondered if you were the same Melody when I heard your name and description."

He heard Face clear his throat. "So you know each other?"

_Know each other? _

He thought back to the last time he saw her and smiled. Kissing the young lady lightly on the lips, he turned with his arm slung loosely around her waist.

"Know each other? I don't know. Do we know each other?" The silver-haired man looked down at the petite blonde and regarded her with twinkling eyes. She smirked up at him and nestled closer.

"John swept me off my feet." She giggled and pulled away from his embrace to peel off the yellow rain slicker she wore. Carefully placing it on a coat hook, she securely latched the cabin door and returned to Hannibal's side.

Murdock nudged Face and whispered, "Looks like experience won out this time, ol' friend."

Face scowled at the pilot before coughing politely to get the Colonel's attention.

"Maybe we should explain before we besmirch our reputations." Hannibal was having too much enjoyment seeing his Lieutenant's shocked reaction. With reluctance he introduced Melody to the men.

"Melody, this is Captain H. M. Murdock." The Texas-born pilot removed his cap and gave her a huge lopsided grin before taking her hand in his.

"Heard lots 'bout ya but not from the Colonel." He smirked as both Hannibal and Face glared at him. "I'm sure yer even nicer 'n I heard," he added hurriedly.

_Murdock!_

"Yes. Well . . . " the Colonel tried to divert the direction the conversation was heading. "This is Sergeant B. A. Baracus."

The black man nodded at her and growled, "Don' listen ta the fool. He was prob'ly hearin' voices in his head again."

Melody's expression was somewhere between surprised and amused at the introductions. Then her eyes fell on Face and she cocked her head as if trying to puzzle something out.

"I think I know you from somewhere." She pursed her lips and pressed a finger to the side of her jaw.

Hannibal waited to see how close the relationship was between Face and the young woman.

_Serves him right if she doesn't remember him at all. _

"Don't tell me. Let me think." She scrutinized the Lieutenant from head to toe. Finally she sighed. "There's only one way of figuring it out."

She walked over to the sulking con man and put her arms around him, gazing intently into his eyes. "I'm sure you weren't the waiter at that festival I went to. Hmmm."

_I forgot about her sense of humor. And evidently the kid doesn't know her well enough to realize she's joking. _

Hannibal kept the smile from his face as the Lieutenant squirmed in her embrace.

"Okay, I give up. Kiss me and I'll know for sure." She closed her eyes and tilted her head. Face's eyes grew wide. Then he realized what she was asking him to do and smiled in triumph.

Hannibal was stunned for a few seconds.

_That's playing the joke a little too far. _

Before Face could comply with her request, the Colonel stopped him. He couldn't stifle his uneasy chuckle. "Melody, I believe you already know Lieutenant Templeton Peck from last weekend."

"Of course I do. I was just teasing." She drew back with a strained smile and seconds later slapped the con man across the face.

"What was that for?" he sputtered, rubbing the reddening hand print on his cheek.

"For obviously kissing and telling." She glanced at Murdock and then glared at Face again.

"Murdock, I'm gonna kill you," the Lieutenant muttered.

"I didn' do nothin', muchacho!" Murdock raised his hands shoulder level in surrender. His face was a mask of apology but his eyes were gleaming mischievously. He gave her a quick appraisal and smiled. "I'm 'is best friend. He really don' tell me everythin' . . . jus' 'nough t' make me wish I was him sometimes."

Melody put her hands on her hips and tilted her head to the side, her fiery emerald eyes flashing. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Shut up, foo', b'fore Faceman makes ya go for a swim off the end of that dock out there." B. A. nudged Murdock with a shove to the shoulder.

"Shutting up now. Won' get 'nother word outta me." He made an elaborate show of clamping both hands over his mouth and hunching over to slink away.

Hannibal shook his head in mock exasperation. "Melody here was the woman the Aquamaniac carried back to his swampy home in 'Bride of Aquamaniac.' She was the prettiest co-star I ever had."

"That's not sayin' much, bein' all ya had as co-star in th' sequel 'Son a Aquamaniac' was a pint-size kid in a lizard outfit."

"I thought you were shutting up, _buddy_."

Murdock clamped his hands over his mouth again.

"John here protected me from an agent that wanted to take some nude photos . . . for my portfolio, he claimed." Her soft gaze was on him and her lower lip trembled as she added, "And I might need your help again. I have a stalker and I'm afraid for my life."


	22. Chapter 22 Someone's in the Kitchen

22 Someone's in the Kitchen

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

_Someone's in the kitchen with Dinah,  
Someone's in the kitchen I know,  
Someone's in the kitchen with Dinah,  
Strummin' on the ol' banjo and singin' . . . _

Face sat by a window of the cabin staring morosely into the darkness as heavy raindrops streaked the glass. Hannibal sat in a chair nearby smoking an after-dinner cigar and reading the newspaper Melody brought in from her Ford Pinto.

The young woman seemed to have no problem allowing the Colonel to enjoy his favorite pastime. After eliciting his promise they would help her with the stalker, it was the least she could do.

Even though it appeared like he was intent on the sports page in front of him, the Colonel was deep in thought.

_If she really does have a stalker, what are the chances he's followed her up here to her cabin? If he has, he must know she has company. Maybe that'll persuade him to leave her alone for the time being. But, just in case, we're going to have to take shifts watching for him. _

The younger man sitting by the window interrupted his thoughts with a low impatient growl.

"How many more rounds of 'I've Been Working On the Railroad' do you think they're going to sing?" the Lieutenant complained under his breath. He shot an especially jealous look at his best friend who had his jacket off and his arms up to the elbows in hot soapy water.

After their meal, Melody offered to help Murdock with kitchen clean-up while the others relaxed. It wasn't long before the two were harmonizing on several folk songs while they washed and put away dishes.

Hannibal smirked at the Lieutenant and blew out a puff of smoke while contemplating the cigar in his hand. "You could have volunteered to help Murdock with the dirty dishes."

Face put his hands over his ears as the pilot blew a handful of soap suds at the young woman and started the chorus.

_Fie, fi, fiddly-i-o,  
Fie, fi, fiddly-i-o,  
Fie, fi, fiddly-i-o-o o . . . _

The Colonel smiled indulgently and joined in on the last line, if anything to rub it in.

_Strummin' on th' ol' banjo. _

"And to think she purposely made my acquaintance at that festival just to find us and get our help." Face winced as Murdock stopped singing and grinned at Melody. "Oh no! What's next? 'You Are My Sunshine?'"

"No, because then you'd be able to join in." Hannibal resumed trying to read his newspaper but kept one amused eye on the increased agitation of his Lieutenant.

_It's good for him to once in a while know he isn't God's gift to women. _

"Hey, darlin'. Ya know this one? The pilot took a deep breath and began with something to the tune of "On Top of Old Smoky."

_On top of spaghetti,  
All covered with cheese,  
I lost my poor meatball,  
When somebody sneezed . . ._

"Sure I do." Draping the dish towel over one shoulder, Melody playfully twined her arm around his waist and began the next verse.

_It rolled off the table,  
And onto the floor,  
And then my poor meatball  
Rolled out of the door._

The Colonel scanned the two songsters and smiled. _At least Melody seems more relaxed now. If she was making up the story about the stalker, she wouldn't have been so frightened as she told it. Unless she is a better actress than I knew from that Aquamaniac movie. _

"I gotta agree wit' the Faceman." B. A. scowled from where he sat, the parts of his service pistol strewn across the newspaper-covered log coffee table. Hannibal glanced over at the black man in surprise until he saw the wink meant only for his eyes. He suppressed a smile and waited.

"See! Even B. A. agrees it wasn't right she take advantage of me like that!" Face crowed in triumph.

"Didn' say nothin' of the sort. I was just gonna say I was gettin' tired of the songs." The Sergeant ran a cleaning brush down the barrel of his pistol, not daring to look at the Lieutenant's chagrined expression.

"Tell me the truth, Hannibal. Am I losing my charm?"

There was so much worry laced in the con man's tone that the Colonel had to set down his paper to answer. "No, Lieutenant, you aren't losing your charm. Of course . . . " he added with a devilish glint to his eyes, " . . . I'm not really your type so I can't be seduced by your charms."

He raised innocent eyebrows at the furious glower the younger man shot at him.

Melody and Murdock strolled over to the couch and plopped down together, laughing and barely able to continue the tune.

Face rolled his eyes. "Now maybe they'll quiet down and we'll get some peace," he muttered.

_It rolled in the garden  
And under a bush  
And then my poor meatball . . . _

Before they could finish the refrain, a bullet came through the window nearest the couch and imbedded itself in the opposite wall. Melody let out a frightened yelp. Murdock scooped the young woman into his arms and dove for the floor while the others did the same.

Face, Hannibal and Murdock drew their weapons as B. A. scrambled to reassemble and load his own pistol.

"That's one way to get them to stop singing," the Lieutenant breathed as they waited to see if there would be any more gunfire.

Hannibal glanced at each one of his men and the young actress in turn.

_At least we know for sure there is a stalker. Now to figure out what to do about him. _


	23. Chapter 23 Medic!

23 Medic!

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

From where he crouched on the opposite end of the room, Hannibal scrutinized Murdock and Melody. They were closest to the gunshot that came through the window.

The pilot held the young actress in his arms. Her own arms were tight around his neck and her face was hidden in his chest. Her shoulders shook with sobs of fear.

Murdock's face was rapidly paling. He laid his head back on the couch cushion and closed his eyes.

Hannibal kept his voice as low as he could and still be heard. "Murdock, are either of you hurt?"

The pilot raised his head and tried unsuccessfully to pull far enough away to check the young woman for injuries. Melody gripped him tighter.

"I don' know, Colonel. She don' wanna let go so I can see for sure." He reached up as he spoke and gently grasped her forearms. "Let me get a good look atcha, darlin'."

He solemnly gazed into her tear-filled eyes and pushed back a lock of blonde hair. "That's better." He quickly looked her over, then gave her a lopsided grin. "Yer stalker don' like folk songs, I guess. Now I'm gonna send ya over t' Hann'bal. Keep as low t' th' floor as ya can."

"But what about you?" Her lower lip trembled as he pushed her down to the floor and pointed toward the others.

"Someone's gotta watch for anybody comin' at us from this window. I figure 's long as I'm here . . . " He gave the Colonel a look that meant more than he was saying.

Hannibal understood instantly. "Face here's been wanting to talk to you all evening, Melody. Why don't we switch places? B. A. and Face, I'll need one of you at each window. That means you get the bedroom, Lieutenant. And Face?"

The Lieutenant turned his head to look at the Colonel. "Tempting as it might be, keep your attention more on what's outside that window than on the young lady you'll be guarding."

Not missing Face's irritated frown, Hannibal chuckled as he made his way over to the pilot. He passed Melody on the way. She raised her eyebrows and glanced at the Lieutenant before returning her puzzled gaze to the Colonel.

"I don't want you to get the wrong idea about Face. He's very capable. He'll keep you safe. Just watch out for his hands."

"I heard that," the con man grumbled.

Winking at her, the older man's expression turned serious as soon as she moved past him.

Both Murdock and Hannibal watched the Lieutenant escort the young woman into the bedroom before either spoke.

"Where?" the Colonel asked as he reached for the wash basin, soap and emergency first aid kit.

"It's a through 'n' through, Colonel, but it sure hurts like hell." Murdock was already removing the red flannel shirt he wore over his black "Has Anybody Seen My Dog?" t-shirt. "Didn' want th' li'l lady t' get any more scared 'n she already is."

Hannibal nodded approval of that wisdom as he assessed the wound. The Captain was correct. The bullet had traveled through the flesh of his left upper arm halfway between elbow and shoulder. "Think it was a lucky shot or is this stalker someone we should take more seriously?"

Murdock sucked in a sharp breath as the Colonel examined the wound. He forced a smile onto his face. "Aw, if this guy was a _good_ shot he coulda blown either o' our heads off. He wouldn'ta waited 'til now t' do it either. We were both . . . ah . . . " He winced as Hannibal finished washing the wound and poured povidone iodine on it. ". . . Like I was gonna say, we were both pretty good targets when we were washin' dishes. I just reached up over my head at th' wrong time."

"That was my thoughts, too." Hannibal guided Murdock's hand to press a sterile pad on the wound while he secured it with a length of white gauze bandage. "So this shot was lucky. He wasn't really aiming at anyone or anything."

"Well, it wasn' so lucky for me," the Captain muttered. "I think he was just lettin' us know he was there."

"And he's gotten more aggressive with his stalking." Hannibal handed the pilot his flannel shirt and watched out the window as he put it on. The rain had not lessened. The only things that could be seen were the shadows of the black van and the surrounding trees.

From the opposite end of the room, B. A. rumbled, "Fool alright, Colonel?"

"Yeah. Nothing we haven't taken care of before." The older man passed Murdock a bottle of aspirin. Removing the cap, the pilot tossed three tablets into his mouth before handing the bottle back.

"Jus' business as usual, Big Guy. I won' be conductin' no orchestra with this arm for a while but I'll be okay." He grinned when the black Sergeant growled at the silly response.

"Well, keep your head down nex' time, fool."

"Wasn' my head that was hit."

Hannibal let a smile play on his face while he listened to their banter. His men, especially the Captain, kept their pain well hidden. They also watched each other's backs and could see through any joking façade one of them put on when injured.

"Looks like our stalker's makin' his move, Colonel." B. A. grunted a warning.

As Hannibal peered out the rain-streaked window, a dark figure darted from the trees toward the van.

"Not my ride. He ain' gonna touch my ride." The Sergeant half-stood to move toward the door.

"Stay put, B. A." The Colonel gestured for Murdock to follow him. They crept across the room to where the black man crouched by the window. "Now we know where he is. Now we can deal with him."


	24. Chapter 24 Oil Lamps and Water Pitchers

24 Oil Lamps and Water Pitchers

AN: In the previous chapter, I had Murdock take three aspirin for the pain of the gunshot wound and as one commenter pointed out, aspirin is a known antiplatelet drug and is just one common drug patients who take anticoagulant drugs should avoid. I did not think that through very well.

Other pain relievers like acetaminophen and ibuprofen can also reduce the number of platelets formed to clot the blood but have short-lived effects. Further research I did after seeing the comment suggests that antidepressants in the class of Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors (SSRIs) might also increase the risk of abnormal bleeding. Interestingly, certain types of antipsychotics like thorazine and haloperidol may increase the risk of developing deep vein blood clots.

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Hannibal took out a fresh cigar and prepared to light it. As he did, the interior lights in the van came on and went off just as quickly.

"Oh, man!" Murdock groaned. "He ain' after Billy, is he?" He tilted his head as if to listen. "Sure. I heard o' these kinds o' things. Dognappers goin' after purebred dogs like Billy." He ducked when B. A. swatted at him with an open palm.

The Sergeant peered out the window at the darkened van. "Thought I tol' ya ta leave yer fool dog ta home." After a moment's thought, he added with a scowl, "B'sides, there ain' no dog."

"Is so! I tol' Billy t' watch over th' van for us, make sure nobody did anythin' to it when we were sleepin'. Didn' ya hear him barkin' when th' lights went on?" The Captain winced as he moved his arm to ward off another swat.

The Colonel sighed in exasperation.

_Now is not the time for these two to get into a fight. _

"Stow it, both of you." Both men glared at each other but stopped their argument when they noted the serious look on Hannibal's face. "B. A., I assume you secured all the weapons in the van before you came in."

The Sergeant nodded. "I ain' no fool, Colonel. All the firearms're accounted for an' either locked up or in here with us."

"Good. We know our trespasser is armed. That makes him dangerous even if he was trying to get our attention rather than hurt or kill any of us. We need to find a way to draw him out of the van and into the open. Then we can get him and find out who he is and if he's Melody's stalker or not." The Colonel drew on his cigar and slowly exhaled.

"We need a distraction. Something that will focus his attention somewhere else. Right?" He glanced at B. A. and Murdock in turn.

B. A. groaned. "You got that look in your eye 'gain, Hannibal."

The Colonel smiled as he regarded the tip of his cigar. "Well, it won't be a front door approach so you shouldn't have any reason to believe this plan will fail."

The Sergeant gave Murdock a sideways glance. He noted the grin on the pilot's face and the manic gleam in his eyes. "Don't you start, too," he growled.

"Aw, now come on, B. A. This time maybe Hann'bal's plan'll work like it's s'posed to." He ignored the Colonel's pained expression and went on. "'Sides, you don' want Billy t' get all excited 'n' pee in yer van, do ya? He will if we don' get that guy outta there."

_No, nobody wants that, Captain. Even if it is invisible pee. _

B. A. grumbled something neither man could hear clearly. Then he scowled and asked, "Okay, what do ya need me ta do, Hannibal?"

"I remember way back when I was growing up, my grandmother used to read stories about Bible heroes to me. There was one story she read over and over again to me. Probably why I remember it so well. Have you ever heard the story about Gideon and how he defeated the Midianites?" The Colonel's gaze wandered around the room until he spotted a ceramic water pitcher. He crept over and grabbed it as well as an unlit oil lamp.

He stuck the cigar in the corner of his mouth and returned to where the two men waited with puzzled expressions.

"Well, we're going to improvise and do this the A-team way." He chuckled under his breath as he worked out the rest of the plan in his mind.

"A pitcher 'n' an oil lamp? I _think_ I know where yer goin' with this, Colonel, but we ain' got no three hundred men." Hannibal cocked his head, wondering how Murdock knew what he was planning.

The Captain explained with a shrug that brought another pain-filled grimace to his face. "My Gramma used t' tell me th' same story. What is it 'bout Grammas that makes 'em want t' make sure ya get all kinds o' Bible learnin'?"

"I don't know, Captain, but I'm sure glad they did."

B. A. looked at both men. "If it's the story I'm thinkin' of, my Momma told me the same one. Fool's right. We ain' Gideon's army."

Hannibal stared at the black van, shadowed under the pine trees. "No. But it's only one guy. It'll be a piece of cake."

The Sergeant growled. "Hope so."

"Now let me make sure our Lieutenant has kept his mind on business and not on the young woman. I'll let him know what I'm planning and tell him what he needs to do." The Colonel headed toward the bedroom on hands and knees.

"What should we do in the meantime?" B. A. called after him.

"Watch that van and make sure our stalker stays put." With that, he was in the bedroom and out of their sight.


	25. Chapter 25 Where's Face?

25 Where's Face?

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

The bedroom was dark. The bed itself, made of rough-hewn logs, loomed enormous in the small area.

Hannibal expected he might find Face and Melody there.

He was wrong.

Hunkered near the window, Melody gazed up at him. She was shivering. "John?"

_I suppose I should be relieved the two of them aren't in bed examining the quality of the sheets, but . . . _

"Where the hell's Face?" His voice came out in a harsh hissing whisper filled with enough anger to cause more trembling in the young actress.

Rather than have her stand up and become a target for whoever was out there, he crept over to her. Cupping her face in both hands, he peered into her eyes.

"Where's Lieutenant Peck?"

His touch melted the dam holding back her fear. She threw her arms around his neck and sobbed into his shoulder.

For a moment, Hannibal didn't know what to do with his hands. Hesitantly he lifted one and patted her back.

For a few seconds she couldn't speak. Then she slowly got control of her fear and drew back a little to look at him.

"Now, can you tell me why Face isn't here at his post?" The Colonel softened his tone. This was, after all, a young woman, and not one of his men. The authoritative voice would return when he located his Lieutenant.

She searched his eyes as she spoke. "Temp saw someone circle around and hide behind the outhouse."

_Temp? Face works fast. He's already gotten through to her. _

"He thought he had a good chance of sneaking up on whoever it was and flushing him out."

If the Lieutenant's desertion of his post wasn't so serious, Hannibal would have found humor in the phrase 'flushing him out.'

"He took a gun with him. I told him I had one stuck under my mattress for protection." She held up a revolver, obviously too heavy and large for her hand.

Hannibal sighed.

_She probably didn't know what she needed to defend herself and bought it in some second-hand shop out of fear. _

Peering out the window through the light rain, the older man picked out the small wooden outbuilding. Nothing was moving.

"Okay. Melody, leave your gun with me and go see Murdock. Tell him the Colonel said to keep you safe. Tell both Murdock and B. A. to wait for my orders and continue to watch the van."

"What are you going to do?" she whispered.

"Just do what I told you." He pointed and lightly pushed her forward. She scrambled toward the living room on hands and knees. The Colonel cast an appreciative eye on her slim figure as she went.

_It's no wonder she caught Face's eye at that fine arts festival. _

He caught himself thinking about what it would take to charm her away from his Lieutenant, then shook his head.

_I have to tend to business. And right now, that means finding out what happened to Face. _

As soon as Melody was through the door, Hannibal snaked his way around the bed and toward the door leading outside.

His hand was on the knob when it twisted. Quickly hiding behind the opening door, he waited until the shadowy figure started to close it before tackling the person. The two fell on the bed, the shadow pinned belly down under the Colonel.

For a few seconds the shadow squirmed to throw his attacker off, then relaxed.

"Who are you and what do you want with Melody Raymond?" Hannibal rasped.

Face murmured, "Lots because she's a perfect 36-24-36. Really, Colonel, you're not my type."

Hannibal let out an exasperated growl and released the younger man.

"Do you mind telling me what you think you're doing going after someone alone and deserting your post?" he muttered.

Face raised his eyebrows and smiled. "Well, for one thing, I got our stalker. He's unconscious and locked in the outhouse. I also disarmed him." The Lieutenant held up a pistol and widened his smile.

The Colonel frowned.

_That's interesting. There's more than one of them. Is this a hired hit? But they didn't shoot to kill. _

"Then there's two of them because someone else just opened the van door and got in."

Face's triumphant expression turned serious.

The con man scanned the room. "Where's Melody?"

The older man gestured toward the main room with a slight motion of his head. "I sent her out to Murdock. He'll keep her safe. He's going to have to guard the cabin. Took a gunshot in the arm."

Face glanced toward the living room, concern in his expression.

"It was a through and through. Shouldn't do more than be painful for a few weeks." Hannibal paused and added, "By the way, the next time a woman tells you she has a handgun and can protect herself with it, ask to see it." He held up the Colt .45 Peacemaker and showed the Lieutenant.

Face gave a low whistle. "She told me she was scared but that's . . . " He was at a loss for words.

Hannibal ignored the comment. "I have a plan for capturing the guy in B. A.'s van. Let's just hope there's only these two."

"And if there's more than these two?" The Lieutenant raised his eyebrows with the question.

"Then we'll know that for sure, now won't we?"

Face sighed. "That's a lousy plan, Hannibal."

"You haven't heard it yet."

_I'm getting a little tired of everyone making comments about my plans. Don't they always work out in the end? _

"Okay, tell me and then I'll tell you it's lousy." The Lieutenant folded his arms and waited.

"Everyone's a comic. Alright. Here's what we're going to do . . . "


	26. Chapter 26 Bleeding Out

26 Bleeding Out

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

B. A. knew one thing: the punk who took a pot shot through the window and hit his little brother in the process was going to pay. One look at Murdock's paling face told him the wound may not have been as 'through and through' as they originally thought.

The pilot was compensating for his pain and weakening state with an increase in the amount of jibber-jabber directed toward the Sergeant.

"Sure hope that guy don' get Billy all riled up. Ya know, ah ain' had th' time t' get Billy 'is rabies shot this year. Shouldn'ta even brought 'im on this li'l trip. Figured warn't no harm in it bein' Billy knows ya'll. He wouldn' take a bite outta you 'cause he knows ya'd bite back. Wouldn'tcha." Murdock flashed a smile that was more of a grimace.

B. A. noticed Murdock's drawl was becoming more pronounced. That was a bad sign. The bullet probably left bits of cloth in the wound. His eyes were becoming too bright and glassy. Another bad sign. When Murdock took a bullet for Hannibal a year before, it didn't take long for the fool to go from bad to worse with the resulting infection.

He grunted his acknowledgment of the pilot's last statement. He wasn't going to repeat his litany of "There ain' no dog." If Murdock needed to talk to keep his head clear for whatever Hannibal's plan was, B. A. was going to try being as tolerant as he could for as long as he could. It didn't mean he had to admit there was a dog. He just hoped Hannibal would be coming back soon to let them know what they had to do.

"Hope he ain' wearin' all black either. Billy hates black. Ya know that, Big Guy?" Murdock paused for a deep breath and a swallow. He squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them again. His gaze was slightly unfocused.

A rustling noise from the direction of the bedroom attracted B. A.'s attention. Murdock didn't notice.

"Billy don' handle stewed prunes good neither. When he gets holda 'em, ah got a mess t' clean up. If he did somethin' in yer ride, ah promise ah'll try 'n' get it all cleaned up proper. Gee, he's been awful quiet th' last few minutes. Ya think he . . . " His words slurred together slightly. He glanced at B. A., then turned his head to see what the black man was looking at.

Melody crawled on hands and knees toward them. Her gaze traveled from B. A. to Murdock and then to the pilot's sleeve. She drew in a sharp gasp of surprise and dismay.

"You're bleeding."

The two whispered words momentarily confused Murdock. He blinked slowly at her and absently looked down at his arm.

Her statement made the Sergeant scrutinize the Captain's shirt sleeve a bit more carefully. She was right. He had bled through the bandage. The red plaid of the shirt hid the blood stain and in the dimmed light B. A. hadn't noticed. Blood soaked the lower half of his sleeve. The Sergeant cursed himself for not paying better attention.

"Oh." Murdock touched the spreading stain and stared at his reddened fingertips as if bewildered that they had blood on them.

More rustling in the doorway of the bedroom announced Hannibal's arrival with Face behind him.

"What's going on here, Sergeant?" Hannibal analyzed the scene before him, putting his hand up to stop the Lieutenant from going any further.

B. A. shot a warning glance at the Colonel and gestured with his head toward the pilot. Nothing needed to be said.

More than ever B. A. hoped Hannibal knew what he was doing. Murdock was in no condition to lend much support. The Colonel's grim expression told him that he recognized the seriousness of the situation. Face kept silent but his eyes reflected worry.

The two men drew closer to the wounded Captain, partly to block Melody's view but mostly to be there should Murdock topple over from loss of blood.

"Let me see again how bad it is." The Colonel reached for Murdock's sleeve but the injured man twisted away, muttering, "Ain' hardly more 'n a paper cut. Ya know how ya cut yer finger 'n' it bleeds a lot more 'n it should? It'll stop."

The older man sighed in frustration over the Captain's stubbornness.

"Still think we gonna be like Gideon's army, Colonel?" B. A. rumbled, ready to step in if Murdock resisted medical care.

Face countered with a remark of his own. "Change of plan, Hannibal?"

Hannibal shook his head as he maneuvered around to get a better look at the Captain's arm without touching him yet. "Just means we'd better get that guy in the van quick so we can get Murdock some real help real soon."

The pilot gave him a weak smile of approval and a thumbs-up. "Ah'm good t' go, Colonel. Jus' tell me what t' do."

"Here's what you do, Captain. You let me see if I can do anything more for your arm." Murdock's smile turned into a frown as he heard the no-nonsense tone of Hannibal's voice. It wasn't exactly what he wanted to hear but he knew the Colonel would leave him no options but to obey.


End file.
